


Whispers and Dust (or, Prussia and Romano's Most Awesome Roadtrip)

by GuestPlease



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Germany is NOT Holy Rome this is very important, Germany isn't smart about people but he loves his brother, Good Big Brothers (tm), M/M, Prussia is bad at feelings, Romano has a pottymouth, They're visiting the people they've lost so character death I guess?, he loves his brother so much that he gets run over unlike Luxembourg, he's fine though I promise, it's kind of complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:59:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuestPlease/pseuds/GuestPlease
Summary: Romano and Prussia are both fading since reunification with their brothers. They don't exactly MIND, but it's not great, either.Prussia wants to visit the graves of all those he's outlived. It's not as macabre as it sounds-- he's not going to dig them up again.Romano wants to be home soon-ish-- but what the hell, it's not like he's got anything better to do. He just hopes Veneziano will actually take care of the other two while he's gone.





	1. Nightmares and Siblings

Prussia woke up screaming, covered in sweat and clutching his chest. _How human_ , part of him thought. He looked around his room to reassure himself that Heinrich had not really pulled him into hell, whispering about his failure. That Ludwig wasn’t really a shambling corpse made in Heinrich’s image. That Heinrich wasn’t going to make him die slowly as penance for forgetting him, for leaving him, for _burying him alive_.

Germany turned on the light, accompanied by Blackie and Berlitz, who ran over and licked Prussia vociferously (Aster was apparently still asleep).  
“Brother? Are you alright?” Germany asked softly.  
Prussia turned away from the dogs to face his little brother, a grin on his face and a quip about his awesomeness but… he couldn’t do it.

“Come, I’ll make you some tea.” Germany said.  
“What am I, England?” Prussia joked, following him to the kitchen.  
Germany shook his head, assembling the ingredients. “No. Because I know for a fact that England tells his brothers when he has a nightmare.”  
“You little shit…” Prussia whispered.

Germany turned on the kettle. “So, what was it, and why have you been dreaming about it so often?”  
Prussia fixed his gaze on the wall behind Germany where he wouldn’t have to meet his brother’s eyes. “It’s nothing.”  
“Gilbert, I heard you screaming from three floors above you.”  
Prussia sighed, and Germany slid him the now steaming mug. Prussia stared into it, before he admitted, “I’m fading, Ludwig.”

“Gilbert, I—”  
“Don’t interrupt your elders. I… For a long, long time, I wished that I had been the one to die out there on the battlefield instead of Heinrich. And then you showed up, and I felt incredibly guilty for wishing that, because you would have been left alone. Who knows what would have happened to you? But you’re an adult now, West. I’m no longer worried about France killing you like he killed Heinrich, I’m no longer worried about Russia grabbing you…” Prussia took a deep breath, then met his brother’s eyes. “I’m scared though, West. I’m scared of what’s going to happen to me. I’ve done a lot of bad things, and…” Prussia closed his eyes. “The worst thing I ever did was let my baby brother get killed.”

“Gilbert, _stop_. His death was not your fault.” Germany insisted. “And you’re not going to die.”  
Prussia made eye contact with his brother. Neither of them spoke, then Prussia looked away and sipped his tea. “Ludwig, you’re one of the youngest nations in the world. You’ve never seen someone fade. Every country that has been destroyed since you were alive has split into two, like Czechoslovakia, or they were always meant to be one, like South Vietnam and North Vietnam. The closest approximation you could have to me fading is Tibet, and no one’s seen _him_ since the 1950s. No one knows how he is.”

“Gilbert, stop this. You’re _not_ going to die.”  
Prussia slid the empty mug over to his little brother. “Ludwig. _Germany_. Listen to me. You weren’t there when Germania and Rome crumbled to dust, leaving a bunch of frightened children to play at being rulers of Europe. You weren’t there when England and France and Spain struck down different parts of North America. You weren’t there in the Dark Ages, when nations died far too easily. You weren’t there beside me on the Crusades when I watched the Knights Templar _die_ , still singing. I know the signs, Ludwig. I’ve lived far too long to ignore them.”

Germany scowled. “You’re _not_ going to fade, Brother. And you can talk to me, about Heinrich, or Templar, or whatever. Or one of your friends, what about France?”  
Prussia snickered. “Oh, yes, bring up Solomon and Heinrich with France. _That_ will go over well. That would be like him bringing up Joan of Arc with England. France killed Solomon and Heinrich, West. Why do you think I fought so many wars against him?”

“He’s your friend. And you weren’t alone in those wars.” Germany pointed out.  
Prussia waved him off. “Some of them. We have a bad history, but when there are only so many of us left, there’s no point to remembering the past.”  
“Yes, that’s why you’re such great friends with Russia.” Germany remarked drily.  
“That’s different.” Prussia growled.

“According to you, France murdered your brother and your best friend!”  
Prussia scowled. “First of all, none of us can be _murdered_. Not without being dissolved in some capacity, and that’s in our bosses’ hands. Second, Solomon wasn’t my _best friend_ , he was… he was… I don’t have to explain myself to you. But what Russia did to me was _different_.”  
“Gilbert, I…”  
“No, West! Just… let it be. I spent so much time fighting, I want to go peacefully. I… I am probably going to disappear within the next few days—”

“Gilbert, I will split myself before I let you fade. You’re my brother.” Germany insisted.  
Prussia looked at him in surprise, then gave his trademark laugh. “Kesesesesese, West, I’m not dying _yet_. I have a few more months. I just… I want to see Heinrich and Solomon’s tombs before I go. Well… Heinrich’s tomb.”  
“He still had a body?” Germany asked.  
Prussia nodded slowly. “I… he… I don’t know why. But he was dead. I buried him myself, and sat by his grave for three days and three nights in case the devil tried to take his soul. I dug him up again, in 1870. He still had bones there.”

“Why did you dig him up?” Germany asked.  
Prussia closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s… I’ve never heard of anything like it happening before.” Then he laughed again. “They actually believed I was a witch, in the nineteenth century! Britain kept babbling about things that shouldn’t be messed with. I’m not the good Lord himself!”  
Germany frowned. “What are you saying, Prussia? Did everyone really think Holy Rome had returned? Who…?”

Prussia stood and stretched. “West, West, West. You’re a smart young man—I raised you better than this. You know the answer. But it’s late, and I’m going back to sleep. Thank you for speaking with me.”  
“Gilbert, that is not… don’t avoid this!”  
“Sorry West!” Prussia cackled. “I’m already gone!”

Germany sighed, petted Berlitz, and put the mugs in the sink before closing up.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Technically speaking, Prussia was wrong. There was one other nation in Europe that could relate. But he’d be damned if he let Germany near him to watch him slowly fade.

Italia Romano was never on the front lines like Prussia. At least not until he was much older. As such, he didn’t really see countries fade the same way. He did see his grandfather die though, which is more than he can say for the others. He saw the German bastard—the original one, not the latest one—destroy his land, inch by inch, and he watched the person, his nonno, fade right before his eyes.

He watched other parts of Spain who he’d been raised alongside fade. The worst one was in the thirties, during the Spanish Civil War. It was nearly sunset, and drizzling hard as it could without being actual rain. He, Spain, and the albino that Spain was so fond of were out on a patrol. The albino had tried to take charge, but Romano and his brother had loaned the most troops. They were bickering—well, Romano was bickering, the German had thought it was a joke—when they heard Spain cock his gun. And then they heard the shot.

Catalonia, a part of Spain that Romano had more or less always known, always somewhere around the background, was falling to the ground before Romano could scream. Prussia, that bastard, covered Romano’s mouth. Spain, the Spain Romano had always known even when he was just Aragon, stood with his back to them, gun still cocked.

The walk back to camp was somber. Rationally, Romano was well aware that the region of Catalonia was still culturally unique and all that jazz. But on a nation level, he knew. The insurgents were going to be crushed, and Catalonia had been the poor ‘nation’ to represent them. Other regions would apparently ‘retire’ but that was a slower death. Romano had stopped watching them choke and gasp for air as they slowly turned to dust after Palermo. Now he just felt their regions, growing stronger than before, more people filling his now expanded land. It was different though, watching a nation be directly executed.

Spain had stalked off somewhere, and the albino had pulled him along to his tent.  
“Now, keep your eyes on the awesome me.” Prussia ordered.  
“An-An…” It was different than the humans. Humans were like soap bubbles, ready to pop and die at any moment’s notice. Nations were meant to be strong, and everlasting. “He _killed_ Dídac. Like it was nothing to him.”

Prussia snapped his fingers in front of Romano. “Eyes on me! Yes. He did. I’m guessing you never had to see him do this before in the colonies. You’ve been sheltered, Italy.”  
“Don’t mock me, stronzo!” Romano growled.  
“I’m _not_. That would be unawesome.”  
Romano huffed. Some small part of him was grateful that Prussia was acting normal. That he was still chattering like a cicada about his greatness. Another wanted to scream about how Antonio had _killed_ a _nation_.

“Hey, hey. Don’t do this. Don’t break down. You made it through the Great War, remember? That was much worse than this.”  
Romano shook his head. “No, no… we entered late. We didn’t see anything like this.”  
Prussia conceded this. “Alright, alright. Hey, hey, do you want to hear a story? I used to tell Ludwig this one when he was little. Okay? Can I sit with you?”  
Prussia stayed with Romano throughout the night, telling him stories from his homeland and occasionally running a gentle hand through his hair. Romano half thought he made some of the stories up—far too many seemed to include an ‘awesome’ hero that sounded far too much like Prussia. But he enjoyed them.

And the next day, when they moved out, Prussia’s eyes were the ones Romano met, not Spain’s. Prussia had always been slightly more tolerable than Germany, partially because he didn’t look exactly like the man who had destroyed Romano’s grandfather inch by inch, acre by acre. They’d been close while Veneziano trailed after the potato bastard and the two of them tried to destroy Europe, but hadn’t talked in years.

There wasn’t really much you could say to someone after everything that had happened.

Regardless of the fact, Romano was well aware that he had a few years left, at most. Fading happened when nations were assimilated, and he and Veneziano were last unified after World War Two. In all honesty, he expected that Prussia had more time than him. The Germans had been reunified since 1989. Idly, he wondered how he himself would go in the end. Quickly, like Catalonia, after years of watching the dominant representation run everything? Slowly, painfully, like Nonno and all of the city states? Would he grip Veneziano’s hand like Nonno did while Seborga and the Vatican waited quietly outside?

But there was no time for that now. He needed to smile for the others, or at least pretend that everything was fine. Veneziano was an idiot, he’d never figure it out. Seborga had never seen anyone fade, he’d seen to that. Even if Seborga didn’t understand why he was locked in his room, at least he’d never have to see it happen. He wouldn’t know the signs. The Vatican had never had to be restrained like that—she’d never seen anyone fade. Period. And it was going to stay that way.

On this particular day after this depressing self-reflection, Romano was ready to do anything other than sit in the house. He walked out of his room, passing Seborga’s on his way. Seborga had literally no job, and was therefore always free. Romano knocked on his door.  
“Come in!” Seborga yelled.

“I’m going to go get a coffee.” Romano said.  
“Sounds good.” Seborga was apparently playing a video game. A rather violent one, by the looks of it. Romano grimaced. “World War Two wasn’t like that, you know.”  
“Yeah, I know. I was there.”  
Romano pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. “You were _neutral_.”  
“Hmm, is that why I recently found an unexploded bomb in one of my citizen’s walls?”

Romano sighed deeply. The bomb had been because of stupid Germany, and the fact that Seborga had hid resistance members. And the fact that the personification himself had been part of said resistance. “I _told_ you when we were separated not to antagonize Veneziano, because he was crazy at the time, or the potato bastard. What did you do? You decided near the end of the war that you were going to make life harder for yourself. I’d yell at you, but Veneziano already punished you enough.”

Seborga gave him a dark look. “Fine words from someone who got his ass kicked by England. Or were you just trying to see your stupid boyfriend again?”  
“Are you talking about America?”  
“So what if I am?”  
“Have you been reading romance novels, or have you just been smoking crack? I didn’t switch sides in 1943 because I was hungry for America—”  
“ _Thirsty_ , God, _thirsty_!”  
“Whatever! I did it because I fucking hated what Germany was doing to my country. _You_ have been your own country for years!”

He was actually quite proud of that. Due to legal loopholes and an agreement between himself and Veneziano, Seborga had never been absorbed.  
“Whatever.” Seborga repeated, turning back to his game. “Can you please get me a cappuccino?”  
“I was asking you to come with me.” Romano said.  
“Yeah… but Sealand and I are finishing this round…”  
“Sealand? Are you telling me Sweden and Finland actually let their kid play this?” Romano peered over Seborga’s head at the screen.

“Yep. At least, that’s how I heard it.” Seborga replied.  
“ _Jesus_. I would have thought they’d just train the kid with an actual gun. Finland is apparently a sight to behold on the battlefield. This is…” Romano squinted at the screen. “A pale imitation of war with all of the excitement and none of the reality. This is like a human to a nation.”

“War is traumatizing.” Seborga said.  
Romano raised an eyebrow. “We have more traumas than the humans in our lifetimes. Thank God you’re sheltered.”  
Seborga narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, thanks, _Dad_. I still have nightmares over my own brother hanging me.”  
“Thank God that’s the only thing haunting your nightmares.” Romano said, before turning to leave. Alright, yes, he was never this nice with Veneziano, but that was because he was a grown ass man. So what if Seborga was only two hundred years younger than them? He was like a baby. And he’d just caught Romano in a weird mood, that’s all. He wasn’t getting _soft_.

He made his way down to the kitchen, expecting Veneziano to be at work. To his surprise, Northern Italy was at the stove, chatting with the Vatican. Romano was about to say something, like, “why aren’t you at work, idiot?” when the phone rang. Romano was not raised in a barn, so he let his brother answer it. And then Veneziano put it on speaker. Fuck.

“Ciao!” Veneziano called, stirring something in a pot with a wooden spoon that smelled delicious.  
“Feliciano!” Germany sounded frantic on the other end.  
“Ludwig? What’s wrong?”  
“Gilbert is completely gone! Last night, he had a nightmare, we were talking… I’ve been looking everywhere! Austria and Hungary haven’t seen him either!”

“Ludwig, Ludwig, calm down. Is he still within your borders?” Veneziano asked.  
“I… I think so. Yes.”  
“Alright then. What were you talking about, anyway?”  
“He said he was _fading_ , Feliciano. He started talking about the Holy Roman Empire and the Knights Templar… he said he wanted to visit their graves.”

Veneziano’s spoon clattered to the floor, and Romano and the Vatican swiftly helped him to a chair. The Vatican ran out to get Feliciano something, Romano assumed it was tissues.  
“Feliciano?” Germany asked.

“Nice going, potato bastard.” Romano approached the phone. “We don’t say _that_ name in this house. Especially not when it's  _you_.”  
“What is the significance I have with the Knights Templar?” Germany asked.  
“Not him, you brickhead! The other one! You look exactly like him, you were forged from his remains—God…” Romano took the phone into the other room and turned it off speaker. Veneziano didn’t have to hear this. “When you showed up out of nowhere, we thought your brother had actually managed to bring back Holy Rome. Feliciano nearly drove himself insane—he _did_ drive himself insane over you, by the way! That’s what fucking World War Two was!”

“World War Two was caused by a variety of complex economic and political problems, that we are _both_ responsible for!” Germany snapped. Romano stared at the phone in shock for a moment, before growling, “Don’t you _dare_ take that tone with me! You’ve gotten Feli all worked up again over _your_ stupidity! I cannot believe no one ever brought him up with you!”  
“Is Italy alright?” Germany asked.  
Romano narrowed his eyes. Right, the potato bastard was doing this on purpose.

He peered into the kitchen nonetheless. Veneziano was no longer on the verge of hyperventilating. The Vatican was gently rubbing his hand and saying something softly.  
Romano returned to out of ear shot. “ _Veneziano_ is fine. But if I _ever_ hear you mention _his_ name to Feli again, I will chop off your balls and make them into a dish so delicious that the heavens will weep and you might actually be able to eat some good food for once in your life.”

“…that is the most convoluted threat I’ve ever heard in my life, but understood.”  
“Yeah, you better understand it, fucker!” Romano snarled.  
“Are you done yet? Gilbert is actually missing.”  
“Did you check where _he_ is buried?”

“Romano, I know this may be hard for you to understand, but no one ever mentions the Holy Roman Empire to me. I don’t _know_ where he’s buried.”  
Romano rubbed his temples. “Fine, do you want me to go get Prussia?”  
“I don’t want to put Feli—”  
“I didn’t say Feli, I said me.” Romano growled. “Take it or leave it.”

“…okay, first of all, why you?”  
“Because I’m fucking nice, that’s why!” And he didn’t have anything else to do.  
“But… you hate me. Can’t you just tell me where it is?”  
“Oh, _sure_. ‘Turn right at the 300 th tree, you can’t miss it.’ Prussia didn’t exactly make it in the middle of a city, asshat. Explaining where it is would take too much time. I’m not exactly doing anything, and Feli would make himself sick if he had to see _his_ grave.”

“…that’s actually quite decent of you. Thank you.”  
“I’m not doing this for you, stupid.” Romano huffed. “That isn’t a place where anyone should have to go alone.”  
“What’s wrong with it?”  
“What’s—you do realize it’s well-hidden, and no one who was invited to his funeral can’t find it? And if you were invited to the funeral, you were close to _him_.”  
“You and Holy Rome were close?”  
“Don’t be ridiculous. I was there for Feli. Austria and Hungary were useless and caught up in their own problems. Feli nearly had a breakdown over _him_ , and I could be trusted to reliably not let my own grief swamp me.” Romano paused for a moment to roll his eyes over his own sarcasm.  “Now, do you want me to find your brother, or do you want to keep chatting like we’re little old women crowded around the sewing circles?”

“Well, I _am_ over one hundred years old.”  
“And _I_ , and Feli for that matter, are over one thousand.” Romano pointed out. “Ciao, potato fucker. As much as I’d love to see what happens when _you_ get off schedule, your OCD must take a backseat to me doing shit.” With that, Romano clicked the phone off, walked back into the kitchen, and handed it to Veneziano.


	2. Yes I read World Stars

Romano was not planning on being gone _very_ long. He didn’t pack any clothes or anything.

“And _this_ is the number for the fire department.” He tapped the long list of numbers he had written down. For good measure, he had written down the names of whoever had the number as well.  
“And I am literate.” Seborga huffed. “I don’t understand why you need to do this if you’re just going out for coffee.”

“I have to go all the way to the Czech Republic.” Romano said brusquely. “And this is in case you need to grab it in a hurry! Stop being ungrateful—you think I can just leave you both with Veneziano? When he’s like _this_?”  
Seborga glanced at Veneziano, who was staring out the window thoughtfully. At least Romano hoped it was thoughtful. Veneziano had a habit of retreating in on himself when Holy Rome was brought up.

“We have coffee here.” The Vatican pointed out. “There’s a coffee shop down the street- they give me free biscotti.”  
“Don’t take that from strangers!” Romano ordered. “Next thing you know, Austria’s got a boot on your head and your brother is gone!”

“And Spain makes you work for him and a squirrel frames you for peeing in his bed.” Seborga waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not like that anymore. The Vatican’s going to be fine—and you know, there are pretty girls around there…”  
Romano glared at him. “Good, go get your own coffee from there then. Here Casanova, I’ll even challenge you to come home without getting a single girl’s number.”

Seborga opened and closed his mouth several times, before frowning. “Why are you so jealous of me?”  
“Jealousy is a sin.” The Vatican added. “And you still haven’t told us why you’re going to the Czech Republic. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re avoiding the question.”

Veneziano finally turned away from the window. “Romano is going to the memorial for… for Austerlitz for me.”  
The room fell quiet, and Veneziano wiped his eyes. “I’ll take care of them, don’t worry Lovino. Go find Gilbert.”

Romano bit the inside of his cheek. Logically, he knew Veneziano would take care of the others. He knew. But he didn’t want to be useless and obsolete quite yet. He still wanted to spend time with them—not even as an excuse not to clean up all of Grandpa Rome’s trash. Idly, part of him wondered if he’d be missed, or if they would try not to think about him. They tried not to think about Rome, about Holy Rome, about Catalonia, about anyone who passed. Everyone agreed that it was less painful, somehow, to let them hang in the air like ghosts. Romano didn’t want to be a ghost—but he was becoming one, wasn’t he?

“Bye, assholes.” He managed to say without his voice breaking.  
Veneziano, who could always move quicker than most countries, was suddenly hugging him. “Thank you. And… say hello to him for me.”  
“Just be happy again.” Romano ordered gruffly. “It’s fucking weird when you aren’t.”

So, he didn’t pack, he just hopped in his car, the one thing in his life that he cleaned semi-regularly, and left. Lucky Prussia didn’t have to cross the Aegean, or multiple countries, but damned if Romano was going to waste time driving across Veneziano. Who cares if it would take him eight full days to get there? …he really should have packed. Ah well, he might get a small boost from other countries taking him border to border. Maybe. Hopefully.

Prussia, for what it’s worth, was on a train. He _loved_ trains. Trains were how he won the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. Granted, this train was far more comfortable and what followed wasn’t… He forced himself to take a breath. Drawing himself into memories of that war—let alone the other one—were futile. Someone poked him in the arm, and he jolted.

He peered at the person. It was a little girl, about five-ish.  
“Why do you look so weird?” She demanded the way that children do.  
“Sofia!” Her mother exclaimed from a nearby seat. “Apologize!”  
“It’s alright.” Prussia waved her off. “I’m used to it. I’m just… special.”

Sofia didn’t look impressed, but she accepted the answer. “Why are you alone?”  
“ _Sofia_!” The mother hissed.  
“I’m not alone, I’m going to visit my brother. He is near Brno.” Prussia said casually. Czech Republic might pop up too, she did that sometimes. Usually though. she left Austerlitz, and anyone who came to visit, be.

“How old is he?” Sofia demanded. “What does he look like?”  
Prussia glanced towards the mother, who apparently wasn’t offended by this. Okay then. “He’s a lot older than you, but last time I saw him he looked just a little bit older than you. I haven’t seen him in a very long time. But enough about me, figchen. Why are _you_ going to Brno?”

“We’re going to see Deda and Mema.” Sofia replied confidently.  
“Your… opa and oma?” Prussia guessed.  
Sofia shook her head. “My _momma’s_ parents, not my papa’s. Where are your parents?”  
Prussia shrugged. “I don’t know. I never met them.”

“That’s sad.” Sofia said. “…you can call me figchen.”  
“Was that not allowed? I’m sorry.”  
“Papa calls me figchen.” Sofia replied, patting his hand. “But Papa isn’t here right now, so you can do it. I hope you find your parents.”

Prussia looked over at the mother, who grimaced. “Yeah… thanks, figchen.”  
Sofia nodded, then went back to her mother. She had given Prussia an idea though—his brother didn’t need him. Either of them, considering that Heinrich was dead… why not take his time and go visit _everyone_ he missed? He dug around in his pockets and pulled out an old pen. Perfect.

Because of a lack of paper, he wrote on his arm, in no particular order;

_Solomon_

_Vati_

_Old Fritz_

_Bismarck_

_Von Steuben??_

He could always add to it later if he so chose. The train rattled on, eventually arriving in Brno. Then he got on a bus to Slavkov u Brna with a lot of tourists/history nerds and steeled himself for visiting Heinrich.

Days later, it had taken Romano a week to get to the same town. Austria and Hungary had not noticed when someone was on their land—or ignored him, that seemed likely—and he was pretty sure he was nearing Czechia. Countries could notice when another nation had crossed their borders. And when a country was within their own borders, they could go anywhere. After all, why couldn’t you scratch an itch on your own back?

Romano could almost see the border. That was when his car ran out of gas.  
His wail echoed for miles. Austria played a discordant note out of shock.

Romano checked his phone. The nearest gas station wasn’t for miles, and he wasn’t leaving his _car_ in the middle of the _countryside_. The other option was to get out and push… while his suit was a _nice_ suit, and not one of those knockoffs that Hong Kong was constantly trying to sell, he had been wearing it for a week straight. For Prussia, of all people. Bastard had better be grateful.

Fortunately, the Czech Republic noticed when someone _very_ _slowly_ crossed her border with Austria. It felt like a bug crawling on her leg. She excused herself from the important meeting that she had been in and went to investigate. The first thing she saw was the car—a tomato red, well-maintained but slightly old Fiat. Czech Republic was not in the business of knowing Italian car types for certain.

She walked around the car to see a vaguely recognizable nation trying to push the car with his back. He looked about to fall on his ass.  
“Who are you?” She demanded.  
Blazing hazel eyes met hers. “What. Did. You. Say?” The nation spat, giving up on pushing his car and drawing himself to his full—and now disheveled-- height.

Uh-oh. Czech Republic vaguely recognized him by association—she knew what Italy Veneziano looked like, and she’d heard _this_ one and his temper tantrums at world meetings.  
She fixed a smile to her face. She’d weathered worse than him. “Italia Romano, I didn’t recognize you for a moment! What brings you to my house—here for ladykilling?”

Romano’s expression lost the ferocity, and he smoothed himself down. “Sorry about that—I wasn’t sure if I was already being forgotten. While I haven’t seen much of your country, I know the nation is beautiful.” He winked at her.  
Czech Republic was uninterested. “So you’re here for sightseeing?”

“Yes… if you could take me to Slavkov u Brna, I’d be grateful, bella.” He mangled the pronunciation, then made as if to kiss her hand.  
She dropped all pretenses. “Slavkov u Brna? What do _you_ want there? You weren’t involved in Austerlitz.”  
The smile melted from his face. “I’m here for the German idiot. His brother’s worried sick about him.”  
“And you want a ride?” Czech asked sweetly.

“It would be appreciated.” The smile was back. “Although I understand if you’re busy.”  
Czech felt a bit sorry for him. He obviously had nothing better to do with himself than chase down Prussia. Sure, his methodology was a bit off-putting, but still.  
“I’ll cut you a deal. Stop flirting with me like I’m a friend or whatever, and I’ll take you there.” Czech said. She was patient, but not _that_ patient. If she was gone too long her government might bother her about _her_ cleaning up the Elbe instead of them.

Romano blinked in surprise, before nodding. “Thank you, b—” He cut himself off.  
“Get in the car.” Czech ordered. “And we’re going to pretend you called me by my human name.”  
“Which is?”  
“Bohdana.” Czech replied as they appeared in a parking lot in Slavkov u Brna. “The castle’s that way if you’re looking for Prussia.”

“Thank you.” Romano said. She disappeared before he could kiss her hand. He turned to the direction she’d pointed in, squinting at it. The castle was white and rectangular. He rolled his eyes. Veneziano had much _nicer_ castles, though his favorite was always going to be his own Castle of Otranto. He made his way inside.

A receptionist smiled at him. “How can I help you?” She asked in heavily accented English.  
“I’m looking for my friend—an albino?” Romano asked. He was too distracted to flirt this time. She’d probably take it as badly as her nation did.  
“He wanted to explore the Teutonic ruins.” She replied. “Are you—I don’t think anyone’s allowed down there.”

“He was.” Romano replied. “And I’m here to see the remains of the Holy Roman Empire… I _guess_.”  
The receptionist stared. “The battlefield can be visited outside, or perhaps you would like to see the parlor where the treatise was signed…?”  
“No. I’d like to see the vaults.” Romano replied, glancing at a layout of the castle on the map and continuing on his way. He knew where it was, he just needed to be sure. No one stopped him.

Finally, he made his way to the vaults. The tourists were gone, the stonework growing darker and older with every step. He rounded a corner, and there was a shock of white hair as Prussia knelt in front of the stone coffin with a simple cross hanging on the wall above. Torches hung on the wall, giving the other nation a near halo of light.

“Hey, West. I was wondering when you’d show up.” Prussia said without turning around.  
“Hey, _asshole_. Do you know how long I had to drive to get here and retrieve your ass?” Romano snarked.

Prussia finally turned. “Where’s West?”  
“How should I know?” Romano was so _relieved_ to release his frustrations. “Do you think I was going to give him directions to this place? With Feli listening?”  
“It’s not that hard to find.” Prussia pointed out, smiling slightly.

Romano sat down next to him. “Yeah, well, maybe I lied to the potato bastard a bit. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know history.”  
Prussia ruffled Romano’s hair, mindful of the curl. “You wanted to be here with me? You’re so cute, South Italy.”  
“What are you, Spain?” Romano grumbled. “I’m not fucking cute.”

“Yeah you are.” Prussia laughed his distinctive laugh, forgetting where they were for a moment.  
Romano glared at him for a minute, then said, “What are you still doing here, asshole? Have you spent the last four days in this dark dungeon? You admire your own architecture that much, huh?”  
Prussia stopped smiling, but didn’t seem wholly melancholy. “Nah… I spent some time in Brno, helping a little girl I met on the train settle in. I think her mom realized what I am, what we are.”

“We don’t do a good job of hiding it.” Romano examined his fingernails. “So your first day in town…?”  
“Nah, I got in yesterday. Saw the sights—hey, tell me something. If it was North Italy or Seborga or whatever—”  
“San Marino and the Vatican, you know their names dickface.” Romano responded automatically.

“Yeah, the whatevers.” Prussia poked Romano teasingly. “If it was one of them, would you have let Austria take them off to war like that?”  
Romano closed his eyes. “You know the answer, asshat. You’ve been sitting down here all alone, remembering what I said 200 years ago? I was upset because Veneziano was crying his little eyes out. I now know the situation was more nuanced.”  
“I still let Austria take him.” Prussia sighed. “I wasn’t there when France…”

“Oh, boo hoo hoo. Unfortunate that the Holy Roman Emperor had been Austrian for years already and there was no sign of that ending.” Romano said brusquely.  
“What about France?” Prussia demanded. And for a moment, Romano saw a flicker of the nation he’d once been, a flicker of the ferocity he’d wielded.  
“What about your stupid Sixth Coalition, dumbass?” Romano shot back. He knew better to mention how Prussia had tried to take down France earlier, determined to destroy him and losing half of himself in return. How he’d charged screaming obscenities and vows of vengeance for his fallen baby brother.

“I didn’t do much then.” Prussia huffed.  
Romano punched him on the arm in an almost friendly manner. “You lied through your teeth to throw France off. It was brave. And impressive that you lasted that long.”

“What, no insult?” Prussia smiled.  
“Don’t make me regret it.” Romano glared at him. “So, how long do you want to stay here? ‘Cause I’m going to be honest with you bastard, I’m not fond of the idea of living down here like moles for the rest of my life.”  
“We’re immortal.” Prussia said, but he gave Romano a long, hard look. “And not forever. Just a few more hours. You’re welcome to leave, tell West you checked up on me…”

“I did not drive for a week straight to tell the potato fucker—”  
“Don’t be mean to West.”  
“ _Whatever_. I didn’t come all this way for _that_.” Romano sniffed. “I’m staying until you go home.”  
Prussia laughed again. “ _Well_ , I’m going on a bit of a tour, South Italy. I’m seeing everyone who’s died that I miss before I kick the bucket myself.”

“What happened to ‘we’re immortal’?” Romano made air-quotes.  
Prussia looked at him sadly. “What I’m going to guess is that we’re in the same boat, huh? Our brothers are stronger and since reunification…”  
“I don’t like to think about it.” Romano said bluntly. “But, since I’m not going home until you do, I want in. I have a car, and I want to visit people of my own.”

Prussia unveiled his sleeve. “Sure, add whatever you want.”  
Romano glanced between Prussia’s face and his arm. “No, thanks.”

He dug around in his back pocket, and eventually pulled out a scrap of paper—on closer inspection, it was a receipt from a gas station. Prussia dutifully pulled out Sofia’s pen, and transcribed his names, adding a few that he’d thought of since the original list. Romano took the pen and added some of his own.

_Solomon_

_Vati_

_Old Fritz_

_Bismarck_

_Von Steuben_

_Saxony (Adalbert)_

_Mecklenberg-Schwerin (Jakob)_

_Anhalt (Reinhart)_

**Dídac**

**Nonno**

**Naples (Fioralba)**

**Joanna I**

**Ferdinando Petruccelli della Gattina**

**Puglia (Stefano)**

**Sicily (Agata)**

**Henry Armatta**

“We can always add more.” Prussia noted.  
Romano nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The borders thing is a headcanon of mine, as well as them being able to understand each other at least without having to translate. It's just easier. They probably do know different languages though. 
> 
> Comments are the best way to get me to update (please don't just say "update").


	3. Quality Bonding (tm)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments please me and make me update faster

Romano drew himself up to his full height. “Well, bastard, go call your baby brother. He’s nearly crying with worry for you.”  
“Crying is very manly, cute little Italy.” Prussia stood and ruffled Romano’s hair.  
“Do you think Veneziano just appeared out of fucking nowhere?” Romano demanded. “Stop calling me cute. You’re not Spain.”

“ _No_ , I don’t mean cute like I raised you.” Prussia grinned.  
Romano watched him warily. “Shut up, bastard. You know I haven’t thought of Antonio like that in years. I’m older than you all think anyway—I just took some time to hit a growth spurt.”  
“So, you and Antonio…?” Prussia probed.  
Romano purposefully peered around Prussia to look at the crypt. “I _think_ you should call your brother, potato-brain.”

Prussia ground his teeth. “Point taken. _But_ my amazing phone is out of charge.”  
Romano handed his phone to Prussia. “I need that back to plan a route. Don’t break it.”  
“What, you don’t trust me?” Prussia said, placing a hand over his heart in mock-hurt. He nearly dropped Romano’s phone in the process, somehow. Romano glared at him but walked past him before plopping down in front of the crypt.

Prussia got the hint and left. Romano waited until his footsteps faded to start.  
“So.”  
The crypt, predictably, remained silent.  
“It doesn’t feel right to call you a bastard.”  
Silence.

“But what you did to Veneziano wasn’t right either. You broke his heart! And then Prussia pops up with the German Confederation nine years later like it’s all supposed to be _fine_?! It wasn’t fine! It still wasn’t fine!” Romano hissed. “How _dare_ you!”  
  
Romano wiped his eyes. “But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. You’ve been replaced by the potato bastard, just like I’m being replaced by Veneziano as we speak. I suppose that’s always how it goes. I’m sorry you died young. You were an asshole who took away Veneziano when I needed him most, and you’re the reason Veneziano pulled us into World War Two when your doppelganger wanted to return to the glory of Rome… but you didn’t deserve to die young.”  
  
“By the way, Veneziano says hi. He still loves you, deep down. Part of me used to want to tell the replacement, but I’m not that cruel. I just… why can Veneziano still love you, but his own brother is always forgotten? Will he even remember me when I’m gone? Will anyone?”  
“Jeez, that’s _depressing_.” Prussia commented from the doorway.

Romano jumped, before turning around and standing in a fluid motion. “You _shut the fuck up_ , right now, or I will steal your teeth from you in the dead of night. And sell them as holy relics.”  
“That is a very convoluted threat.” Prussia whistled. “I’m impressed. Also pretty sure that Catholicism would not be fond of you doing that… so… what now?”

“Give me back my phone.” Romano demanded. “So, let’s plan where to go, bastard. I don’t exactly know where they all are. And I don’t intend to spend my life doing this. If you’re an ass, you get kicked out of my car.”  
“Bossy, bossy.” Prussia clicked his tongue. “Fine. Behave that way. _I_ will be a good traveling companion.”

They spent the next few minutes drawing a map on Google Maps, which was then connected with lines.  
“So, the fucker with a gun first.” Romano huffed, storing his phone in his pocket.  
“Hey, Vash is nicer than that. He’s one of the family.” Prussia replied. “He’s calmed down since World War Two, guaranteed.”  
“Good, the fucker will steal all my money.” Romano said flatly. “Which is a problem, because I’m driving us around Europe. Got any gas money, beer stein fucker?”

“Are you implying that I fuck beer steins?”  
“Are _you_?”  
“…no? Anyway, no, I don’t have any gas money because my national treasury was dissolved with my country. And then there was the whole communism thing…” Prussia shrugged.  
Romano was unimpressed. “You have to get out of the car to get gas. Every time. I’m not an all-expense paid chauffeur, you damn bastard. Speaking of which, car’s out of gas and I got a boost from the Czech Republic, so I don’t know where the nearest gas station is. Chop chop bastard.” Romano clapped his hands to emphasize his point.

It was Prussia’s turn to look unimpressed. “I saw a few on my way in… but I’m not going it alone. Besides, what are you going to do, huh? Sit down here and tell Heinrich how you think you’re going to be forgotten? What bullshit.”  
“The only bullshit is that you plan to make _me_ do all the work and foot the bill!” Romano hissed.  
Prussia took Romano’s hand. “I never said that.”

Prussia’s hand, oddly enough for a country born to fight, was smooth. It wasn’t exactly soft, but it felt nice to hold. Prussia’s hand was also colder than Romano’s—though from the cold air of the old Teutonic vault they were in or because Germany was a colder country in general, Romano couldn’t tell. His own hand was warm, but not sweaty. The contrast was good.

Prussia ran his thumb gently over Romano’s knuckles, before pulling him out the door. Romano started hissing curses at Prussia, getting louder when he realized that this was Prussia being _gentle_.  
“I don’t know why you’re pissy about fading when you could invade me right now!” Romano growled. “You have _years_ ahead, anyway! You were reunited with your brother in _1989—_ let go! You drunken bastard! Son of a whore!”  
Prussia did not seem to care. The receptionist stared at them as they walked past, but no one else seemed to have a problem. Romano eventually stopped screaming and began muttering to himself. Any of the other idiots he surrounded himself with would have started chattering like monkeys the minute they could get a word in edgewise.

“Don’t stop on my account. It was cute.” Prussia replied cheerfully.  
Romano glared at him. “Let me go _right now_ or I will run you over with my car when we get back.”  
“Then I don’t have much incentive to let you go at all, do I?” Prussia winked.  
Romano felt himself flush. “ _Hey_! What gives you the right to flirt with me, huh? Trying to get out of the one job I asked you to do?”

“Flirting?” Prussia asked in surprise. “That wasn’t flirting.”  
“Then what would you call it?” Romano demanded.  
“Friendly observation.” Prussia shrugged.  
Romano finally managed to pull his hand away, and crossed his arms so that Prussia couldn’t grab him again. “You’re an idiot, and an ass, and I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Spain would have hugged him and said something about how cute he was. Veneziano would have started sobbing. Prussia just gave Romano a long look before smiling a little. “You’re just as lonely as I am, aren’t you? I know what it’s like to have to fight the whole world, but things are different now. We don’t have to keep fighting.”

“Fuck you.” Romano spat back eloquently.  
Prussia stopped walking, and eyed Romano. “Did you ever know my human name?”  
“No.” Romano replied petulantly. “Is it…drunken wastrel?”  
Prussia threw back his head and laughed. “No. I love your sense of humor, South Italy. It’s Gilbert Beilschmidt.”  
“Lovino Vargas.” Romano muttered back. Human names were a precious thing to be shared between other nations. An acknowledgement of your humanity instead of the country you represented.

To be gifted with two in one day—including one from a stranger, but this seemed infinitely more precious as it wasn’t a brush off—was unprecedented for Romano.  
“What was that?” Prussia asked.  
Romano scowled. “You heard me, assface.”  
“Alright, _Lovino_.” Prussia put his hands behind his back and started walking next to Romano. “This is going to be fun.”

They finally made it to the gas station, and Romano paid for a full jerry can, which he made Prussia carry back to the car and fill up. He started the engine the minute that Prussia finished, but waited until he was done before moving the car out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. He pulled up a Google Map from Slavkov u Brna to Chur, Switzerland.

“Can we listen to music?” Prussia asked. Unlike Spain, or Veneziano—or Seborga, for that matter!—Prussia did not immediately start fiddling with the radio.  
“Yes.” Romano finally said. “Not too loud, if it damages my speakers, I will _end_ you.”  
Prussia nodded slowly, and turned it to a classical music station. Inwardly, Romano relaxed. Prussia had better taste than most of the idiots he hung out with, even though the song sounded oddly familiar— _was that a cannon_?  
He swerved the car over to the side of the road on instinct as the sounds continued.  
Romano turned to Prussia to admonish him, but stopped upon seeing that the other nation looked just as frazzled.

“Russian music, huh?” Prussia gave a weak smile. “Figures the bastard would try to give me another heart attack.”  
Romano took his hand and gently squeezed. “Which war?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“Which war did you immediately think of?” Romano asked with surprising gentleness. “I thought of the Spanish Civil War.”

“World War One.” Prussia finally replied.  
Romano nodded and pulled the car back onto the road. Wagner’s _Ride of the Valkyries_ came on next.  
“Veneziano said I should see a therapist. I’m sure your brother is to thank for that.” Romano snarked.  
Prussia smiled wanly.  
“And so then I said, ‘over what? What part exactly needs therapy? What could they focus on in my _millennia_ of memories?’ and he said, ‘well, you could start with your hoarding problem…’” Romano continued.

Prussia let out a chuckle, and Romano allowed a smile.  
“What did you do next?” Prussia asked.  
“I filled his part of the house with some of Grandpa Rome’s antiquities over the next few days while he was out.” Romano grinned. “He was knee deep by the time he realized.”  
Prussia let out his trademark laugh. “ _Oh_ , was that when West was gone for a week? Naughty, Lovino. Very naughty.”

Romano swerved the car into another ditch upon hearing his human name tossed around so carelessly. He shot Prussia a glare that could have melted the polar ice caps, and the idiot didn’t have the intelligence to look cowed. He just grinned at Romano. Romano deepened his expression into a glower.  
Prussia laughed. Apparently Romano wouldn’t be winning this particular battle. Romano sniffed as though he didn’t care, and they continued on with little incident.

They had just pulled into Chur when Prussia started whining about food and sleep. As though Romano had not driven night and day to find him in time!  
Prussia, upon hearing this, started giving Romano sly looks out of the corner of his eye. Romano, tired as he possibly could be, finally assented to a cheap, fast food meal, and a cheap hotel. With a full stomach and eight—no nine, full days of being awake nonstop, he was fading fast. He let Prussia talk to the receptionist, and almost fell asleep against the bastard. _Almost_ was really far too strong a word. He was dead on his feet when Prussia finally got the room key.

 _Then_ someone picked up Romano in impossibly strong arms and carried him away. Romano snuggled against whoever it was, though his tired mind supplied him with the answer. It had to be Spain, no one else was that strong and wanted to hold him, right?  
“I’ll kill you in the morning for this, tomato bastard. I am not your colony anymore.” Romano mumbled.  
Someone laid him down on a bed and pulled off his shoes.  
Romano waved a hand at the person in what would have been a devastating slap had they dared to touch his designer shoes like that when he was awake. Instead, he just found soft hair.  
They also went for his coat, but stopped there. A blanket was pulled over him, and he snuggled down into it.

Some part of his mind realized that the bed was bigger than he had thought when he felt someone else’s weight in it. No matter. Romano had shared beds before. He snuggled up against the someone again, and was snoring softly in minutes.

Prussia, for his part, hadn’t shared a bed in a long, long time, if ever. It had been drilled into him that he must wait for marriage, but the hotel hadn’t had any other rooms available. Besides, he’d thought that Romano would stay on his side, _but apparently not_. To make matters worse, Romano thought he was Toni. However, Romano was so warm and soft… Prussia tentatively wrapped his arms around Romano, and Romano nestled even closer.

Prussia swore to himself then and there that it would not go farther, even during the rest of the trip when Romano was awake. It was just nice to have a cuddle-buddy, that one night. He quickly dozed off too, free from any nightmares.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that makes them both panic on the radio is Tchaikovsky's 'Overture of 1812' by the way. Yes, it does have real cannons.


	4. Switzerland suspects he knows what kind of fic this is

Prussia woke up at the crack of dawn. Years of military training did not just fade away—which is why he slept in West’s basement. No sun, no problem. Unfortunately, Romano had remained pressed up to him during the night, so he couldn’t just extract himself and go about his business. He casually ruffled Romano’s hair, trying to wake him up.

It didn’t work, until his hand brushed against that weird curl. Romano’s eyes snapped open.  
“What. Are. You. Doing.” Romano hissed.  
Prussia hastily withdrew his hand. “Just trying to wake you up.”  
The fire behind Romano’s eyes was lightly simmering—not a full blown inferno. “Oh? Oh, beer bastard? How would you like it if I woke you up with a handjob?”

Prussia had _badly_ misjudged the situation. “Ehh…”  
Romano continued. “So _don’t_ touch the curl, okay sausage fucker?”  
Prussia, for once, chose to go with the diplomatic route. “I didn’t know it did _that_.”  
Romano got out of bed and put on his coat and shoes. “Now you know. Come on, bastard. The sooner I help you with your road trip, the sooner I can go home.”

“Sorry.” Prussia said, somewhat mulishly. “I didn’t mean to, uh… violate you.”  
Funnily enough, the fire behind Romano’s eyes didn’t rise. “Yeah, well, you’re the fucking first to apologize. Spain couldn’t be fucking bothered, he thought it was cute. He thought everything was _cute_.”  
Prussia got the distinct feeling that whenever Spain had pulled the curl, Romano hadn’t exactly minded. “…but…everything you do _is_ cute.” Prussia pointed out.

“Bastard! Call me cute again and I will eat your skin! Won’t you look foolish then, walking around without skin?” Romano chuckled darkly.  
Prussia distinctly remembered that West got threatened with a moustache. Why couldn’t he have been threatened with a moustache?  
He pushed it though. “Aw, is cute little Romano mad?” He snickered.  
Romano took off his shoe and threw it in Prussia’s general direction. Prussia didn’t even have to move out of the way to avoid being hit.  
Romano then stomped away, though the effect was somewhat lessened by only having one shoe. Prussia gathered everything left behind (mostly the shoe) and scrambled after him.

Romano was handing the receptionist his credit card.  
“Did you two enjoy your stay last night?” She giggled in Italian.  
Romano relaxed slightly upon hearing his own language. Prussia was actually slightly impressed—he knew for a _fact_ Italian was one of the least spoken Swiss languages in this city.

“Can’t complain about anything but the company, signora.” Romano winked.  
Prussia was _fascinated_. Romano _could_ be nice! Prussia swaggered up behind Romano and rested his head on top of Romano’s. Romano grew very still, and Prussia could tell he was deciding whether to push Prussia away or to keep charming the receptionist. Prussia grinned upon realizing it wasn’t the one from last night. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“I am going to crush you like a bug.” Romano muttered out of the corner of his mouth.  
Prussia laughed. “You’re good at making up threats, but you never go through with them. You always act like you’re angry, but I bet you’d _melt_ if someone showed you honest affection—”  
“Let me go, or I will _end_ you.” Romano growled.

Prussia finally listened, because Romano might actually hit him with his shoe this time. He handed said show to Romano for good measure.  
Romano put it on then headed outside. Prussia followed, and nearly tripped over him.

Switzerland was standing there, along with Liechtenstein. Neither was holding a gun, but Switzerland did not exactly seem impressed. He looked up at the motel, then slowly looked back down to Prussia and Romano, his scowl deepening as he did so.  
“Vash!” Prussia said happily, moving forward to hug his almost cousin.  
Switzerland’s hand smacked into his face, stopping Prussia from proceeding forward.

“This is no way to greet your cousin.” Prussia grumbled.  
Romano considered taking a picture, before Switzerland turned to glower at him. “I expected worse from him, but did you seriously come to _my_ house to _fuck_?”  
“The _fuck_ …?” Romano was too confused to even sound angry.

Switzerland dropped Prussia. “Hey! No swearing in front of my little sister!”  
“The… heck?” Romano amended after seeing how very _close_ the angry nation was. “You think we’re here to… make love? Me? With him?”  
“Don’t mind my brother, he’s just angry because Prussia ruined his date with Roderich.” Liechtenstein pulled her brother away from Romano.

“That was a date?” Prussia pushed himself off of the ground. “What about Lizzie?”  
“They haven’t been together officially since World War One, and she was trapped behind the Iron Curtain for most of the Cold War!” Switzerland snapped.  
Prussia returned to Romano’s side, and gingerly felt his own nose. “Still, that was a _date_? You brought your sister! No offense, Erica.”

“None taken.” Liechtenstein replied. “But you must consider—when is Roderich willing to pay for anyone else’s food?”  
“He charged me for ingredients while I was at his house.” Prussia whined in agreement. “I guess I can see what you’re saying—also, Erica, it’s _Gilbert_ , remember?”  
Switzerland shook his head at her. “Remember who abandoned you?”

Liechtenstein sighed. “Yes, big brother.”  
Prussia pulled a face at her, but snapped back to attention when Switzerland looked at them.  
Switzerland eyed them both, before crossing his arms. “If you’re not here to make my house _filthy_ , why are you here, Prussia?”  
“We’re here to see the bastard who killed my grandfather.” Romano replied. “I’ve got a car, he doesn’t, neither of us are particularly busy since reunification.”  
Switzerland jolted. “You’re here to see _Vati_? _You_? You just called him a bastard!”

“I made my reasoning for that clear.” Romano crossed his arms as well. “I see no reason to beat around the bush. Besides, you’re a smart nation. What happens after reunification to the surplus?”  
Switzerland turned to give Prussia his full attention. “You still look… alive.” He said, almost accusingly.  
Prussia forced a smile. “Hey, Vash, I want to catch up with everybody before I go! You understand, right? Pay my respects before I see them at the Pearly Gates?”

Liechtenstein took one of Prussia’s hands in hers. “Is there anything we can do?”  
“Don’t ask him that, Erica! Not after what he did to you!” Switzerland snapped.  
Prussia gently pulled his hand away. “Vash is right, Erica. Save your pity for someone else—the awesome Prussia continues to be _strong_ and the most _amazing_ nation ever!” He posed for dramatic effect.

“He’s also the most annoying.” Romano remarked drily. “Come on, Prussia. Chop chop.”  
“You called me Prussia.”  
“It’s your name, isn’t it?” Romano glared at him.  
“Lovino…” Prussia drew it out, grinning. “You didn’t call me beer fucker.”

Romano narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t want to get the gun-toter angry. He might have thought I meant him. Besides, he said no swearing. I’m not doing this for _you_.”  
Prussia smirked. “Alright then. Anyway, we’ll see Vati, and we’ll leave. Sound good to you, Vash?”  
“I wish you’d leave faster, but fine. Come, Erica.” He took his sister’s hand and vanished.

Romano took out his keys and proceeded to where they parked the car. “So, I guess you’re pretty pleased with yourself.”  
“What do you mean?” Prussia asked.  
Romano rolled his eyes. “Veneziano told me about how you used to… how do I phrase it…? Oh yes, you used to be deeply in love with Hungary. And now you’ve got confirmation of her being single.”

“Oh. Right.” Prussia got in the car, and could tell Romano was looking at him from the side of his eye.  
“You don’t seem enthusiastic.” Romano rolled his eyes. “Do you just prefer rejection?”  
“No. That’s not for me.” Prussia replied, before grinning at Romano. “But then again, you thought I was Toni last night.”  
The car screeched to a halt. “What.” Romano said flatly.

“When I was carrying you up to bed.” Prussia replied, raising an eyebrow. “Now why would you think that? I don’t look anything like Toni.”  
“I still own the car, bastard. I could kick you out right now, and go home.” Romano warned.  
“Do _you_ prefer being rejected?” Prussia continued. “Because it means you don’t have to worry about it coming later, when you’ve grown to care for them? Is that why you don’t talk to Toni as much anymore?”

“What happened between me and Spain is none of your goddamn business.” Romano growled. “I was trying to be fucking _nice_ about Hungary.”  
“Maybe I haven’t been in love with her since we were trapped in Hell together.” Prussia said softly. “Maybe I don’t want to see any of them ever again, because it would remind me of what happened. As far as I’m concerned, I became part of West in 1945. Not 1989.”

“You’re going to deny yourself into an early grave, you stupid fuck.” Romano huffed. “You have longer than me and we both know it. It pisses me off _so much_ , more than you usually do, that you can’t acknowledge that. You just sit around feeling sorry for yourself, and then whenever anyone gets close, you pretend you’re fine. See how it feels when someone grabs at your secrets?”

All that Prussia said was, “I want to die happy.”  
Romano shook his head. “Yeah, well, I’ve never heard of one of us that did. That’s a human thing, you dumb bastard. We’re not _made_ to be happy.”  
“We’re not made to be angry either.” Prussia said. “I don’t think we’re quite made to be _anything_.”

Romano pulled onto another road. “We’re getting close, bastard. Time to start giving actual _directions_.”  
And indeed, they were. They were in the ‘Old Town’ of Chur, though not quite at their destination.

Prussia’s directions led Romano to a mostly innocuous—but still quite obviously _protected_ —building.  
“This is part of the Welschdörfli.” Prussia commented as they exited the car and went inside. “The old Roman buildings that survived.”  
“R-Roman?” Romano repeated. “No, Nonno was killed by Germania!”  
Prussia gave him a wolfish smile as they entered the building. Sunlight streamed through dusty windows onto an equally dusty floor, and Romano got the feeling that the only reason it was unlocked was because Switzerland had made it easier for them.

Prussia’s obnoxious smile continued. “Rome technically never crumbled from invasion, South Italy. I thought you knew? Or were you not part of Odacoer’s kingdom?”  
Romano ground his teeth. “Don’t talk to me about that. My grandfather didn’t just _die_!”  
“No. He didn’t.” Prussia shrugged. “He died the same way we all got sick in the 1930’s—he just ran out of money. Especially as taxes stopped coming in, partially because client states were breaking away, partially because it wasn’t going to infrastructure or paying his own soldiers. But now I’m curious about you and your brother—when exactly were you born?”

“380.” Romano huffed. “When the capital was being shuffled around and stuff. Veneziano was born in 400.”  
“So, you are being modest when you say you’re over a thousand.” Prussia laughed.  
Romano punched him in the arm. “Anyway, you _dare_ to tell me my own history? Fucker, I was born right after the German invasions. And you sit there and _dare_ to tell me that the Ostrogoths didn’t fuck everything up—”  
“That is a serious historical debate you’re headed towards with such general terms.” Prussia tutted, though he was grinning. “But it doesn’t matter, because Vati was tied primarily to the Alamanni tribe!”  
“What.” Romano said flatly.

“Of course, he kind of had a hand in every pot, like America does today, but he was primarily the Alamanni. Germania was hard for him to maintain on his own, just like North America encompassing _literally every tribe_ would be hard to maintain.” Prussia continued, leading Romano to a dusty, differently coloured, tiled corner of the room.

“Is there a secret door to the crypt?” Romano asked. “Like it’s fucking Scooby Doo?”  
“Nope.” Prussia plopped himself down on the dusty floor. “None of us could agree what to do with Vati’s final resting place over the years, so Switzerland just… hid it.”  
“Why do you call him that? He died long before you were born—wouldn’t something like ‘Grandfather’ be more appropriate?” Romano asked.

“Picked up the habit from the others.” Prussia shook his head. “I don’t know what to say to him… never really have. I just blather on until I feel satisfied.”  
“That will take all night.” Romano sat down on the ground and crossed both his arms and his legs. “So, go ahead. Talk to him.”  
Prussia cleared his throat. “Hello, Vati.”

Romano said nothing. Encouraged by the silence, Prussia continued.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come by to talk to you in a while. I see Vash changed your tiles a hundred years ago or so—do you like the colour better now? I hope so. Things have been… better. I am free now from the Kievan Rus’ son. You wouldn’t like him much. Although I don’t know if you’d like _me_ much… last time I asked Austria about it, he glared at me and told me not to ask stupid questions. …he calls me stupid anyway, so I imagine that you wouldn’t.”

Romano raised an eyebrow. Prussia took a deep breath. “Too bad, though. You’re going to meet me soon enough, and I hope that you like me by then, or it will be fairly rough. Though you might be in Pagan Heaven, and I might not even _be_ in Heaven… maybe there’s just one place for all our kind, because none of us can ever be truly good all the time, right? Or… is there nothing for us, because we’re not people? Not truly fashioned in God’s image?”

Romano looked disinterested. “I may house the Vatican in my heart, but if you spend all this time wondering whether or not we’re going to Heaven for what we’ve done, you’re not spending the time you have left properly. Besides, the Vatican’s official stance on us is that we’re kind of angels. I’m not good at explaining it, but the point is to stop waxing lyrical to your grandfather about us being human, stupid bastard.”

“That’s almost affectionate.” Prussia remarked drily. “But fine. West is doing so well, Vati. France still calls him _Allemagne_ after you, and West is pretty much a world leader! Definitely a European one, because of this thing called the European Union… anyway, you’d be so _proud_ of him if you could see him and how far he’s come! He’s such a good boy, Vati! I hope you are watching over him, just to see how proud he is making you!”  
Prussia sat back on his heels, before turning to Romano. “Okay, done now.”  
“That’s it?” Romano asked. “But you didn’t say good-bye. That’s the point of this, isn’t it?”  
“You’re right.” Prussia turned back to the tiles. “And I will see you soon, Vati. Hopefully not too soon, though!”

Romano regarded the tiles coolly. “My turn, I suppose. Hello, Germania. Haven’t seen you in centuries, but I fucking _remember_ you, bastard. I remember watching Nonno die, and I remember you scooping up Feliciano and me afterwards and handing us to Odoacer. And I hated you, for so, so long. And I will continue, if it turns out after all that, you hate Prussia. You don’t _get_ to hate him.”  
Prussia was stunned into silence.  
Romano played with a bit of thread. “But… I get it. You let Nonno fade, because he wanted to say goodbye. Thank you, even if it was painful for him in the end. Because… I know you were fading too, or would be soon, if you were tied to the Alamanni. But you were still there for him when he died, and you made sure Veneziano and I weren’t fought over. Thank you for that.”

Prussia raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like this was more cathartic for _you_. Trying to steal my thunder, South Italy?”  
“Hardly.” Romano scoffed. “I bet you’ll fanboy over Nonno anyway. Besides, I just said a bunch of true things.”  
“What, even the part where you would hate Vati if he doesn’t like me?” Prussia grinned.  
Romano glared at him. “What about it? There are many reasons to hate you. The reasons you gave aren’t real ones. Anyway, let’s go. Thanks to your shitty line on my map, we’re spending more time on this than we have to.”

“What do you mean?” Prussia asked.  
“Slavkov u Brna is closer to Berlin than Chur.” Romano narrowed his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice, _great military tactician_.”  
Prussia chuckled but said nothing.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (holds up sign saying 'WILL UPDATE FOR COMMENTS')


	5. Guest Stars England and France

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FrUK just kind of stole the stage. Sorry. We get to see Romano being incredibly petty though.

Romano made it through the third accordion based song before his eyes began to twitch.   
By the fifth, he glared at Prussia. “Why does your  _dumb friend_  listen to so much accordion music? It makes my ears bleed.”   
“Because I have it on a specifically accordion music channel.” Prussia said innocently. Or at least he tried to be innocent, he started giggling at the end and couldn’t speak properly.

Romano gave him his best death glare. “You  _motherfucker_.”   
“It’s your own fault for believing in stereotypes rather than just changing the channel.” Prussia chortled. “And you can’t even kick me out because we’re here for your guy.”

“I can leave you with your dumbfuck friend to be babysat and just  _forget_ you.” Romano threatened.   
Prussia laughed. “Like  _you_  could ever forget  _me_!”   
Romano rolled his eyes, but he smiled. All the same, he switched the radio station.   
“Anyway, do you want to say hi to your dumb friend?” Romano demanded. “Stay with him while I go visit Ferdinando Petruccelli della Gattina? Get fucking wasted and call your exes?”

“Exes?” Prussia snorted. “You think France won’t keep a good eye on me?”   
Romano shot him a  _look_  out of the corner of his eye. “You really want me to answer that? He’ll be keeping his eye on whoever he wants to fuck.”   
“Tsk tsk, again with the stereotypes.” Prussia tutted. “I guess you’re going to have to meet France properly, Lovino. Why don’t we go out drinking with him tonight?”

“I would rather die by being mauled by twenty angry wolves, who then proceed not to even use my body for food.”   
Prussia shrugged. “Colorful metaphor. France is supposed to have good food though, hmm? Good  _free_  food, that he gives friends? Along with good wine.”   
“My cooking and wine is better.” Romano snorted.

“I hear France has quartz in his soil that makes his wine better.” Prussia challenged.   
Romano stared at him, and nearly crashed into a compact car. “You dumb… not all varieties of grapes need quartz soil. Campanian wine is amazing.”   
“I don’t know… I’m going to need to try some of France’s wine.” Prussia winked at him. “And some of yours in Rome.”

“Fine.” Romano said shortly. “Where is France’s house? If it’s not here in Paris, I will not fucking go. I’m not your chauffeur.”  
“He lives in the… 6th arrondissement?” Prussia stuck part of his tongue out of his mouth in thought.   
“That means nothing to me.” Romano said dispassionately.   
"Well... okay let me look it up online, okay?" Prussia said, grabbing Romano's phone. 

Romano nearly protested, but at this point, he felt that it did not necessarily matter. How odd. If Veneziano or Spain had done that, he would have pulled the car over and screamed at them. Maybe he felt more comfortable with Prussia, who actually  _apologized_  for his nonsense, unlike everyone else. Maybe he just trusted Prussia not to accidentally throw his phone out the car window ( _looking at you, Seborga)_ to try to use it as an excuse for chatting up a girl. It's not like he  _liked_  Prussia, god no. 

"Where's your phone anyway, bastard?" He muttered as he turned onto the street as Prussia pointed.   
"I left it in Berlin." Prussia replied too cheerfully. "I couldn't risk West catching me and bringing me home."   
"You thought he would." Romano reminded him. "You thought that I was him."   
"Yeah... West is smart. And... I think it's time that someone told him he looks just like Heinrich." Prussia shrugged. "Give him the context." 

"Mm." Romano said noncommittally. "Personally, I thought we all had an unspoken agreement never to tell him."   
"Well,  _yeah_ , but he deserves to know."   
"No one needs to know about all of the skeletons in all of our closets." Romano pointed out. "And Heinrich is a skeleton by now." 

"Ah, but he's not in the closet." Prussia said. "He's in a vault."   
Romano glared at him out of the corner of his eyes, but kept his eyes on the road. He couldn't afford to crash into the gridlock.   
"Turn here, and... yeah, I recognize this place. Keep going straight." 

Romano bit back a remark that no part of him was straight or ever would be, and replied, "So France lives in the most stylish area of Paris?"   
Prussia waved his hand a bit. "It's... complicated. He moved here after World War Two because he wanted to be around art. Art made him happy at the time, or so he said. I never thought that it was worth pushing."   
Romano nodded. "Family." 

"Huh?"   
"After the war. I spent more time with Veneziano, Seborga, the Vatican, and San Marino. We all came too close to death." Romano replied, uncharacteristically gentle. "It grounded me a bit. What about you?"   
"I try to pretend that nothing happened between 1945 and 1989." Prussia said stonily.   
Romano screeched the car to a halt. "Motherfucker, I was  _trying_  to be nice! There's no need to pretend that you're the fucking Teutonic Order again! You get  _one_  mask to show the world, not a fucking sunglasses display of personalities if I get too close to your issues! God, I'm not your therapist!" 

"I thought you were against therapy." Prussia snarked.   
Romano waved a finger in his face. " _Fucker_ , there is a difference between every single one of us being fucked up beyond human's recognition and 'hoarding', and having been picked apart and tortured by the vodka guzzler. Go see a fucking therapist who helps out soldiers."   
"Why? I'm going to die soon anyway." Prussia shot back.   
"Good! Get angry, anger is a mask too!" Romano yelled. 

"And you don't have a problem with your own mask being on all the time?" Prussia demanded. "I prefer being happy with the people that I love! Giving  _them_  happiness! You're just prickly with everyone because you're scared that the world will hurt you! Well, it already has, and what did you do then?" 

Romano was silent for a minute. The only thing that punctured the silence was the sound of French car horns beeping loudly behind them.   
"Fucker." Romano muttered under his breath. "This is what I get for being soft."   
"That was soft?" Prussia sounded almost hysterical.   
Romano glared at him with the heat of a thousand burning suns. "Yeah. Everyone's softer these days. If this was back when you were just starting out, I would have dueled you or some crazy shit like that. Back before we all got reality checks. You're softer too, but here's what bugs the shit out of me. If I get past your defenses, if I strip away your goofy clown personality, you're still the fucking Teutonic Knights underneath. You're not softer like everyone else. You're just pretending you are. Jesus, find some fucking  _happiness_." 

"You're one to talk." Prussia muttered.   
"Yeah, well at least I admit it!" Romano snapped, sticking a raised middle finger out the window to the angered French drivers. "Now tell me where France's house is, I want dinner."   
"Just up there, in Saint-Germain-des-Pres." Prussia pointed. "So... when we walk in, are we going to pretend everything is normal?" 

"What's normal anymore?" Romano asked.   
"...shit. Good question. Just pretend everything is... not angry?" Prussia suggested.   
"Sure. I don't need the bastard inserting himself into this." Romano agreed. 

They pulled up outside France's house-- or so Prussia said. Prussia knocked raucously on the door.   
A minute of silence passed.   
"Are you sure this is the right house?" Romano asked, trying to peer through the window.   
"Positive..." Though Prussia began scanning the street. 

"Are you sure he's  _home?"_ Romano pressed.   
"Also positive-- the lights are on." And indeed, Prussia sounded a lot more certain about  _that_.   
Another minute passed. 

"Do you have his number?" Prussia asked. "Maybe he can't hear the door."   
"Why would I have  _his_  number?" Romano demanded. "What services could he  _possibly_  render unto me?"   
"I don't know. Booty call?" Prussia shrugged.   
"...he'd have to drive for fourteen hours straight?" Romano said, holding up Google Maps on his phone. "I could just masturbate in that time." 

"Well... he wouldn't be driving  _straight_..." Prussia mused.   
Romano shot him a look of utter disgust. "You're a stand-up comedian now?"   
"What's wrong with that?" Prussia grinned.   
Romano looked unimpressed. "A stand-up comic who only tells puns is a fucking poor comedian indeed." 

"In skill or in wealth?" Prussia's grin widened.   
"Throwing tomatoes at you would be a fucking  _waste_." Romano hissed as the door opened. Both of them stood at attention.   
A frazzled-looking France looked from one of them to the other. "...oh, fuck, it's hallucinogenic."   
" _What_?" Romano demanded.   
"I agree, don't hold out on us, Francis." Prussia winked. 

France blinked slowly, and let them into the house. "Sorry, I already have one guest, I wasn't expecting more... why are you here?"   
"You must really be tense if you're asking me that." Prussia joked. "Romano and I are on a road trip!"   
"Right..." France said, looking over his shoulder. Smoke was beginning to appear from a room on the side, and Romano could vaguely hear someone swearing who wasn't him. What a rude thing to do. 

"Why is there smoke?" Romano pointed.   
France gave a very practiced smile. "That's not  _smoke_. That's... steam! Steam from... steamed clams?"   
Prussia cackled. "Don't you mean steamed hams?"   
Romano gave him a  _look_ , before turning to France. "Sorry, I think he was dropped as a baby. That's clearly smoke, I know what fucking steam looks like. I'm just surprised that  _you_ are letting your own cooking fail. I guess you have finally accepted that Italians have the best cuisine. Come on, dumbass. Let's go get some Italian food, I'm in a good enough mood to buy it now." 

"No, it's a meme... also, France would never let his own cooking fail... that means someone else is in his kitchen." Prussia waggled his eyebrows. "Do tell, Francis."   
"Whoever it is, they're a terrible cook." Romano commented.   
France ground his teeth very obviously behind his fake smile. "Yes, yes, you caught me. I have a guest, as I said. Normally, I would love to laugh and gossip and see you, but--" 

At that moment, someone with very large eyebrows and green eyes stuck his head in the room. "So, the fucking sauce burnt... why is  _Prussia_  here? I thought you were telling everyone to bog off tonight."   
"They caught me at a bad time, my darling rosbif." France grimaced.   
Romano made a show of examining his hand, and then waving it in front of Prussia's face. "I wasn't fucking aware that I had already begun to fade. You could have warned me." 

"This is just like Switzerland fucking Austria!" Prussia pointed at France, narrowly avoided Romano's hand.   
England looked annoyed. "Hardly."   
"You used the Chunnel for  _dirty things_!" Prussia sounded very scandalized, and was still ignoring Romano. 

France looked scandalized. " _Moi?_ Use the Chunnel for a  _booty call_? How dare you, I thought you were my friend!"   
"Come off it, Francis. The innocent act won't work here." England said. "Just have something delivered. Yes, we're fucking. Are you satisfied now?"   
Prussia pointed at England and stared at France.   
Romano shook his head. "No. My last words were that France was a terrible cook. What am I doing with my life? Why was I wasting time on the dead when I should have been paying attention to the living? Sure, some of them will be in Hell with me, but not fucking all of them. I could have prioritized them. I was a fool." 

"Do you often speak in a melodramatic soliloquy?" England remarked drily.   
"Do you often burn down someone else's kitchen?" Romano replied.   
"Fair." England replied. "Although I  _did_  put out the fire. Why are you here anyway? I thought you hated Francis." 

Said nation was now talking to Prussia quietly in the corner.   
"Yes. I do." Romano said almost nostalgically. "Not that I like you any better, I still feel the wound in Naples when I wake up in the morning."   
"Which one?" England commented coolly.   
Romano narrowed his eyes. "Anyway, this is all Prussia's fault. We're on a 'road trip' like he said, to visit people who already died before we fucking kick the bucket." 

"Crass." England said. "But fair."   
He took a step forward, and Romano took a step back. "Oh no no, you stay far away from me, magical fucker. I am not getting cursed before I die."   
England looked highly annoyed. "I'm not going to curse you. It takes far too much effort for very little pay off in your case. Contrary to your behavior, I don't  _actually_  hate you." 

"Yeah, you just bombed me more than Veneziano during the war." Romano glared.   
"You look like a wounded animal." England said, almost to himself. Louder, he said, "Don't whine to me.  _You_  did not get Blitz'd by your little albino friend over there and his brother."   
Romano put up his middle finger as a response. 

"So, what was all that about fading, anyway?" England asked, walking over to France and taking his phone from his pocket casually.   
"Veneziano and I reunified in 1945." Romano said mulishly as England walked back to the established distance between them.   
England typed in the password with practiced ease. "So, what? My brothers are fine. Just look at Scotland."   
"Yeah, it's not a  _United Kingdom_  set-up." Romano said, almost sarcastically. "There's only one Italy, even if we're... different. We're treated as the same, and it's wearing on me. I can feel myself being absorbed, at least that's what I  _hope_ it is. I don't know what it would be otherwise." 

"Maybe you're pregnant." England replied, before looking up at Romano. "What do you want for dinner?"   
Romano crossed his arms. "To be far away from you and the touchy-feely fucker."   
"Fair. However, he's paying. Or rather, we'll probably go fifty-fifty."   
"Like one night of shitty Indian food is enough to repay me." Romano scoffed. "Who did France take over, again?" 

England looked far too satisfied with himself. "Less than me. Go on, pick something."   
Romano snatched the phone from him and maintained the previous distance. "I'd say McDonald's, but you'd probably like that. Tasteless fucker... I don't know. Whatever his colonies were. Have Prussia do it."   
England took the phone back, as Prussia and France rejoined the conversation. 

"You know, in all my years of knowing you..." England began.   
"Tormenting me." Romano snorted.   
"You've never called anyone by their real names. Not even Spain, and he basically raised you." England continued. 

Romano narrowed his eyes again. "Get your facts straight. Aragon was born about a century before Prussia. I was mostly bothered by the Holy Roman Empire and your booty call's father. I am one of the oldest nations in this room, if not  _the_  oldest. When were you born?"    
"The 900s." England shrugged. "Son of Britannia, who in turn was the daughter of the Celtic tribes and Rome. I forget which tribes had the dominant personality, but I suppose that doesn't matter now." 

"Whaaaaat?" Prussia said. "I thought you were as old as him?" He pointed to Romano, who glared at him.   
"Oh,  _now_  I exist, fucker?" Romano spat.   
France quickly took the phone from England and pressed a button. "Who wants what from the Moroccan restaurant that I like?"   
"Stay out of it." England advised. "That is, if you can." 

France rose to the challenge. "I could have said the same for my kitchen. And yet, now I must weep."   
" _Oh_? You little shit, I was  _trying_  to be nice!"   
"How so? That oven was  _expensive_!" France bickered back happily. 

Romano almost resisted the urge to snap his fingers at them. Almost. "Hey, fuckers!  _We_  are the ones having an argument, not you! Get your own fucking argument!"   
France and England stared at him, before France's eyes slid to Prussia.   
"I never said anything--  _you_  put words into my mouth!" Prussia hissed. 

"And I stand by those words, just not your decision!" France pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rosbif, I need a bottle of strong wine to have something good in my life to focus on."   
England narrowed his eyes. "Want to rethink those words?"   
"No. All we do is fight. I love a good fight, especially by what it's followed by with you, but  _my god_. I can't take all three of you right now. One at a time to bother me, please." 

"Charming catch you have there." Romano said to England.   
"Why, you want him?" England replied, raising an eyebrow. Prussia wisely went for the wine, even though literally everyone would have been a better choice as a wine connoisseur.   
"No, I'm just glad that you two have each other. Saves me the trouble of deciding that I need an elaborate revenge plot." Romano waved his hand airily. 

"Right." England rolled his eyes. "Which I suppose is why you're with one of the other Axis countries right now? Don't feel a need for revenge with  _him_ , I suppose."   
"Don't feel a need for shitty Moroccan food either." Romano snapped. "I could just leave and have you two babysit Prussia."   
England made a face.   
France swooped in at that moment. "Oh, come now, little Romano! I haven't seen Gilbert in so long--" 

"I am older than you, don't  _fucking_  call me little!" Romano hissed. "Show some goddamn respect!" This was somewhat negated by the fact that he had to speak  _up_  to France, but the point was still there.   
France rubbed his temples. "Fine, fine. I apologize. England also apologizes for his crack about the Axis."   
"I don't know why you're still friends with him after what he did to you."   
France glared at him. "How many times do I have to explain to you, rosbif? You can't blame Gilbert for what his piece of shit brother did!" 

Romano did not feel the need to weigh in here. Soon, England and France were bickering happily. Romano quickly got bored and went to go find Prussia. It took a little while to find him, because France's home was both enormous and full of 'decorations'. (Romano was particularly derisive on this last point, partially because at this point he deeply missed his Grandfather's 'relics'. Veneziano might summon the potato bastard to get rid of Romano's inheritance while he was gone!)

By the time he found Prussia, he was highly annoyed about everything.   
"There you are, fucker!" Romano growled, slamming open the door to the wine cellar. "Do you know how long I was looking for you? This house is a fucking maze!"   
Prussia jumped a bit, but smiled. "You didn't ask France for directions, did you?"   
"Why would I want to talk to  _him_?" Romano rolled his eyes. 

Prussia shrugged. "It's his house? Anyway, you looked pretty chatty with England."   
Romano coughed, then tried to pretend that it was a derisive laugh. "I am not  _friends_  with  _him_. His cooking skill might be infectious."   
"Mm. I mostly know how to make camp food myself." Prussia said.   
"Anyway, bastard, I was thinking-- if this is all a lie so that the potato fucker--" 

"Don't be mean to West."   
"Don't interrupt me! If this is all a lie so that  _he_  can get his hands on _my_  inheritance just because Veneziano says I'm a 'hoarder', I will personally make sure that all potatoes are thrown into the ocean! I'll be like Eyebrows upstairs with the Irish!"   
" _Did_ he throw them in the ocean...?" Prussia mused. "Never mind. I don't know anything about a plot like that. I'll be pissed if West uses this opportunity to well... use me. Instead of worrying about my awesome self." 

He flexed, and Romano glared at him. "Yes, you're the definition of charm." Romano drawled sarcastically.  
"I know, but I wanted to hear you say it." Prussia smirked.   
Romano poked him a little hard in the solar plexus. "Shut the fuck up, beer drinker. Where is the wine you've chosen?"   
"Over there." There was a slight wheeze to Prussia's voice. 

Romano gave him a worried look. "You okay, beer stein--? Prus--? Gilbert...?"   
"Just a little winded." Prussia smiled at him. "You jab hard."   
"That was not a  _jab_." Romano scoffed. "You must just be weaker than I thought. How dare you make me worry about you!"   
Romano stalked over to the wine bottle, then looked at the shelves. 

"How did you choose this?" He asked.   
Prussia shrugged. "I'm going to be honest-- I chose it randomly."   
Romano held up the wine bottle. "I... how did you choose the one bottle of  _Zinfandel_  here? Never mind, I want to see his reaction."   
"Wait, is that bad?" Prussia asked. 

Romano smirked. "It depends. To a beginner, it's fine. It's got a low alcohol content. To someone like  _me_ , or  _France_ , it's an insult."   
"Pick another one?" Prussia suggested.   
"No no no." Romano hugged the bottle close to himself. "I would have chosen the exact same thing if I had known."   
Prussia raised an eyebrow. "Wow, you are being  _very_  petty right now." 

"Alsace-Lorraine." Romano pointed out.   
Prussia opened his mouth to speak, then closed it with a click. Then he opened it again.   
Romano raised an eyebrow, mimicking Prussia's earlier expression. "Not what your people needed or wanted or whatever. What  _you_  did. As both a person and a nation. Let me have this."   
Prussia nodded after a minute, and guided Romano back upstairs. 

At this point, England and France were making out on the sitting room couch.   
"We found your Zinfandel stash." Romano said bluntly as a way of announcing their presence.   
France was up first. " _That_  was a gift from America."   
"Spare me your lies." Romano lovingly sat the bottle down in the middle of the room. 

France pouted when he looked at it. He and England sat up on the sofa. Romano stayed near the wine.  
Prussia slid into a seat next to France. "Can we have it?"   
"I  _suppose_  it will work with the meal we have planned..." France rubbed his temples again.   
"No no no-- can we keep the Zinfandel?" Prussia asked.   
"What." France and Romano said flatly at the same time. 

France recovered first. "Of course! Anything for my dear friend! Keep it, treasure it, just don't give it back! That would be  _incredibly_  rude you know!"   
Romano looked at Prussia. "What are you  _doing_?"   
"You clearly love it so much, you should take it!" France noted happily. "Stay right here, I'll go get us a better wine for this meal."   
"It's just take-away. You don't need wine for  _everything_." England muttered from the couch. 

"And  _we_  don't need terrible Zinfandel!" Romano hissed at Prussia. "Look what's happening now! We're left with a lunatic who would rather drink  _beer_!"   
"Oi!" England said. "I have been called a lunatic for  _many_  reasons, but my preferred choice of drink is not one of them! You're the weird one stroking a bottle of wine you claim to hate!" 

"It represents my hopes and dreams!" Romano hissed back.   
At this point, the deliveryman called France's phone to say that he was there.   
The three of them fell silent (although Prussia remained silent, having been content to watch the other two fight with a huge grin on his face).   
Romano spoke first. "I was promised free food. Also I've been paying for Prussia for the past few days."   
"I am broke." Prussia added helpfully. 

"Wh-- I shouldn't be expected to pay for it!" England hissed.   
"You're the host, aren't you?" Romano said.   
"First of all, no I am not! I don't fucking  _live_  here, it's not like I've eloped with the frog! Second of all, you just dropped by unannounced! Why are you even still here?!"   
"Because we were in the neighborhood, and I thought France could help us out." Prussia said coolly. "It's not fair to Lovino to make him pay for everything." 

"Who's...?" England rapidly looked between Romano and Prussia before hurriedly getting up, tossing a few Euro notes at the deliveryman (who was startled by someone just appearing out of nowhere when no one had answered the phone). England said a few terse words that Romano didn't quite catch-- but it sounded as though England had spoken Norman French to the deliveryman instead of modern Parisian. England then slammed the door. 

"Now." England said, looking between them. "I don't exactly know what this is, but the fact that  _you_  know  _his_  human name... just... what the fuck? What is happening? Did you two elope? Is that what this is? How? Why?  _What_?"   
"We didn't fucking elope." Romano said, taking one of the brown paper bags next to England and rifling through it for his food. "Prussia, explain what's going on to the tea-bagger." 

"Do you know what that means?" Prussia asked, intrigued.   
Romano finally located his part of his food. He nearly tossed the bag back at England, while grabbing another of the three. This plan was efficient in that it involved being close to England as little as possible while acquiring his food. This plan was terrible in that he looked somewhat like a wild animal, which would have pained him in any other circumstance.

"I don't hear any explanation at all." England finally said after watching Romano for a minute.    
"Ah." Prussia said. There was silence, then he looked at Romano. "The truth?"   
"What do you think, bastard?" Romano replied, not looking up.    
"We are dying." Prussia proudly proclaimed. "We're visiting all the people who died before us." 

"That does not answer  _any_  of my questions." England replied.   
"I found the wine!" France burst into the room.   
"Prussia called Romano by his human name." England immediately said.   
"England yelled at the delivery man in Norman French!" Prussia said quickly. 

"Everyone is stupid." Romano added.   
"Euhhh..." France looked from person to person. "What... Gilbert, are you married?"   
"No? Why does everyone keep asking that?" 

"Because you said you're dying and not much else." England huffed, beginning to dig through the untouched bag for his own food.   
"We're dying. We're not married. I just tolerate him more than most people. Get out of my fucking business." Romano huffed, before looking at Prussia. "Come over here before you get cooties. I found your food for you too."   
"For him, that's practically a declaration of undying love." France muttered, pouring England a glass of wine. "He's so focused on pushing people away-- like someone  _else_  I know."   
"Fuck off." England said fondly. 

"Why are you here in Paris, anyway?" France asked, passing out cutlery.   
"We're here for Romano's guy." Prussia said, pausing before digging in and then doing so. Romano at least ate more delicately.   
"Who is...?" France pushed. "And are you sure you're not here on a  _date_?" 

Romano rolled his eyes. "You've been talking to Switzerland, huh? No, we don't have any fucking time. We're visiting people we know that are dead and we miss, because we can't know if we'll go to Heaven or anything."   
"Didn't your grandfather come out of nowhere when we were on the fucking island?" England asked. "Clearly it's not an end-all be-all situation."   
"Nonno didn't die the way we are." Romano said. "Nonno... I think Veneziano and I sucked the life out of him. But Nonno isn't completely  _dead_... people keep trying to  _be_  him... do you get what I'm saying?" 

Prussia nodded. "I think we've all tried to be him at one point or another."   
France rolled his eyes, and swirled his wine in his glass. "A bit of advice about the fiery ones, my friend-- they don't like always being agreed with. Trust me. I have...  _experience_."   
"Alright, you don't have to go bragging about it to the whole world!" England hissed.   
"It makes the sex far more enjoyable--" France was cut off by England sticking a forkful of food into his mouth. 

"You never answered my question." France said to Romano after he chewed and swallowed. He glanced at England, whose glare seemed to be  _daring_  France to try something again.   
"Ferdinando Petrucelli della Gattina." Romano replied sullenly. "A human."   
"Oh. Didn't you hate him?" France sipped his wine. 

Romano shrugged. "I... he made trouble for me specifically, but I respected him. Reporters willing to actually write the truth are rare. Ones that do it when the world is against them moreso."   
France swirled his wine again, which Romano took to be what he did when he was thinking. "Wasn't he buried in London? I remember kicking him out after the Franco-Prussian war." 

"Yes, but I am fairly certain that not everything written in history is accurate." Romano said. "He died here."   
"His wife was English... you didn't think I'd be as hospitable as Francis, did you?" England sniffed. "Ungrateful. You're lucky France is as sentimental as you. Yes, we did divide the ashes of them both between us, but that's a secret. The humans aren't to find out."   
"How did you find out in the first place?" France asked. 

"I misread Wikipedia." Romano muttered.   
France shrugged. "Well then, I suppose that you were right in this one case. He's in Thiais, which is nearby. Mingled with his wife's ashes, in an unmarked grave. I guess we're going on a field trip after dinner."   
"Can't you just give us directions? This is kind of  _our_  thing."   
"No fucking on the graves." France hissed. "So no. No I can't." 

"Well, that's just rude." Prussia huffed.   
"When do they close?" England asked.   
France checked the time on his phone. "Oh, they closed two hours ago. But since I'm the nation, I can do what I want."   
"Is that what happened to Marie Antoinette?" England snarked. 

Romano nearly choked on his dinner. One does not simply bring up  _that_  sort of thing out of the blue!   
But France didn't react too badly. "I don't know, is a lack of freedom what led to Cromwell?"   
Prussia began eating his food as though it was popcorn-- that is to say, while watching something rather dramatic and pleasing unfold, as opposed to eating with his hands. 

"Bastards. I have been driving for seven hours to get here. He's dead, he can wait another day while we go find a hotel." Romano protested, breaking up the incoming fight.   
France pouted for a minute. "Well... I have rooms... why don't you stay in Prussia's room for when he comes by?"   
"What." Romano said. "When you have a million couches? Again with the sharing?" 

"If you do it, I'll wash your... suit." France looked Romano up and down.   
" _Again_  with the  _sharing_?" England repeated. "Are you lying to us about being a couple? Did we accidentally just double date?"   
"No, because Antonio would be upset if he found out that he was left out." France replied smoothly, before looking Romano over. "Odd... I would have expected you to end up with him." 

"Not anymore. We've both changed too much." Romano said firmly, before walking out of the room.   
"Where is he going?" France asked. "Does he truly want to sleep in the solarium?"   
"Nah he's just lost as shit." Prussia replied cheerfully.   
France watched the doorway. "You know Toni isn't going to be happy when he finds out that you're fucking his... well, what is Romano to him again? His Romano." 

"I'm  _not_ , though." Prussia said. "And we're going to visit Toni later. He's an adult, he can accept Romano having friends."   
England snorted. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you made a joke. You two apparently haven't seen  _actual_  Spain in a while. He's still mad over a few acts of... privateering. He's as possessive as a dragon. And you want to take the one thing he thought would never be taken?" 

"Toni's a good guy." Prussia insisted. "He would never hurt Romano."   
"I'm not worried about that little shit getting hurt." England scoffed. "Even if he wasn't a little shit, I mean. Spain still views him as a colony, mark my words. And I'd wager that gap is why they've never become a couple. Besides, how often do they talk now? I talk to New Zealand more often than those two talk. And um... what's his name...?" England snapped his fingers, trying to concentrate. "Cancan?"   
"You mean the guy who sent me maple syrup? He's nice." Prussia commented. 

"Shut up, kraut. I'm thinking." England continued to snap his fingers.   
"Quebec." France muttered. "He was Quebec before you stole him."   
"Shut up, I'm not talking to you either. Cannery, Kumbaya, Kanako, Canadia... Canada! That's him!" England looked very pleased with himself. 

Prussia shook his head. "Good night, and thank you for the food. I'm going to go find Romano before he gets super lost."   
Romano was actually just waiting outside the door, just outside of ear shot.   
"I was hoping it would be you, but that doesn't mean anything." Romano warned. "I just hate both of them."   
"How  _do_  you feel about Toni?" Prussia asked gently. 

Romano looked away. "Look. You were the only other one there when he shot Didac. I can't... Didac was always there. And he just... it's going to take a long time before I forget that. Because for the longest time, I just kept thinking about what he did, and how...  _clinical_  he was about it. Like Didac was a human, or something. And I kept thinking about how if it was me, being an actual  _threat_  to him, how quickly he'd get rid of me. It's sobering. I know he's not like that anymore, but he could  _snap_  so quickly." 

"We all kind of  _snapped_  at the time." Prussia gently reminded him.   
"I know. I know." Romano rubbed his own arms as if the memory chilled him. "But hearing from Seborga about his  _one_  time dying as a human and coming back is different from watching Antonio  _kill_  a  _nation_. How did it not change you?"   
"I just tried to forget." Prussia said. "Like always. We've all done so much... it's easier to push it away." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Romano's fuck-up with the place of death is my fault, but I'd already written so much and given a plan that I didn't want to go back.   
> 2) Separating out when exactly the nations were born is a headache. However, England as a distinct culture is different to the Celtic Britannia. The Frankish are different to modern France. I just thought I'd make it slightly easier on myself and give them parents instead of nebulous identities (with the exception of China, who is 4000 canonically).   
> 3) I've never tried Zinfandel, and I don't have any personal feelings about it. However, it makes sense for Romano and France to be wine-snobs. 
> 
> 4) Please comment. I remember I had something witty to say but that was last time I updated and I could only make one plea. If I remember the witty plea for commenting, I will write it up next time.


	6. Romano has FEELINGS okAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small brain: Hetalia fan works based entirely on the character archetypes  
> medium brain: Hetalia fan works based entirely on history  
> big brain: Hetalia fan works based around what happened in the anime  
> bigger brain: Hetalia fan works based around what happened in the manga  
> Biggest Brain: Hetalia fan works that draw from history, the anime, and the manga while maintaining characterization as best they can

Romano unceremoniously plopped himself down in front of the memorial. Apparently France had made it look like it was so old that it was gone. It didn’t really matter.

Prussia sat down next to him. “So… who is this guy?”  
“Ferdinando Petruccelli della Gattina—he was a journalist. He… challenged me. He wanted me to be better than I was. I…” Romano shrugged. “He makes me think about what we really are. Are we the representatives of the people? Are we representatives of the power structures they’ve created? Are we both—is the leadership our brains, and the people our hearts? Which do we listen to?”

“Uh… _he_ asked you these questions?” Prussia asked.  
Romano shook his head. “I liked him, kind of. I, as Lovino, liked him, anyway. But he was thrown out of my lands, he died here… I still want to have a claim to him though. I think we’re all kind of selfish when it comes to our people. They’re always ours.”

“Wow, you’re really meditative today.” Prussia yawned. “I like early morning Lovino.”  
Romano threw grass from in between some graves at him. “Asshole. I _can_ leave you here.  I try to be deep and talk to you and shit, and you do this… figlio di puttana...”  
Prussia laughed. “Okay, okay. I guess I get it. I try not to think too much about what we are, but then again, you’ve had a lot more time and upheaval that others haven’t. What does this man specifically mean to you? You came all this way, what do you want to say to him?”

“I was _getting_ to that.” Romano griped, before turning back to the grave. “I… I’m sorry. I should have held onto you more, I should have defended you more. I… got defensive when my inadequacies were pointed out by a mere human. I tried not to think about what he had pointed out… especially because not thinking about what had happened helped push down earlier pain. I admit, I didn’t like Ferdinand II being criticized, because he was the idiot grandson of someone I… never mind. I just wanted him to be better than he was, to try and erase the pain that she… again, never mind. It wasn’t about you, Fernando, and I’m sorry about how I lashed out. You have always been mine, and I failed to adequately convey that. I failed you.”

 Romano stood up, and dusted himself off.  
Prussia watched him. “So… are we going to see whoever failed you like that?”  
“No.” Romano said firmly. “In fact, I want to leave right now. I hate this country. France ruins everything.”  
“Wow… okay.” Prussia glanced towards the end of the graveyard, where France was talking to England, making a point not to go near politically charged graves that might cause a rant or argument. “That was sudden.”

Tears started to form in Romano’s eyes, and he hurriedly wiped them away. “I need to give that fucker a piece of my mind.”  
“Uh, why…?” Prussia asked, scrambling after Romano. He eventually just enveloped Romano in a hug. “Hey, calm down before you talk to him, okay? I’ll distract Eyebrows for you if you do, okay? So you don’t have to go in against both of them? What did France even do, anyway? I thought that he was being nice by letting you see the guy he apparently kept around instead of sending you across the channel.”

Romano huffed. “You think he was humoring me, bastard?”  
“What? No no no—France is a good guy, he’s not like that!” Prussia said hurriedly. “What’s your problem with him?”  
“Too many to count.” Romano growled. “Let me yell at him!”  
“What will it solve? He can’t hurt you, you can’t hurt him. We’re not at war with them any more—you got along well enough with Eyebrows yesterday!” Prussia hissed, finally losing his temper.

Romano wilted in Prussia’s arms. “England and I have mostly stayed out of each other’s ways. We mostly talk to each other when we’re mad at France. I… I think I came here partially because it’s me trying to be strong. I’m in his territory for once, and I came here myself for something he had. I did not want to talk to him. I’m not strong.”

“I didn’t want a pity party.” Prussia pointed out. “I want to know why you’re upset with him.”  
Romano wriggled free and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look at a map of countries jutting out onto the Mediterranean. Narrow it down to Europe, and Greece and my brothers and I are different to France and Spain. And I was firmly in their way when it came to Greece. So, it really just comes down to them fighting over me. Simple enough for you, dumbass?”

“It’s good enough.” Prussia smiled. “You’re not just sad anymore, you’re getting pissed again. It’s a mask, but I think it’s better than wallowing with nothing.”  
“Shut the fuck up, I did not ask for your opinion.” Romano hissed.  
Prussia grinned. “Yes sir. Time to talk to France?”

Romano nodded.  
Prussia cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Eyebrows! Remember that time that everyone in Europe hated you so much that I was your only ally, and even Old Fritz hated you then? Kesesesesese!”  
“Shut up, kraut!” England yelled back. “I’m busy!”  
“And I trained your baby brother’s shitty army!” Prussia responded, before turning around and waving his butt at England. Romano raised an eyebrow, and France began snickering.

“It’s not my fault what people do with the ungrateful brat!” England seethed, but Prussia had clearly hit a sore point. Romano privately thought to himself that England was a proud, proud man, and that the American Revolution was a dent in that pride. To hear America tell it though, England was jealous of America’s awesomeness. Either way…  
“It’s not about America specifically.” Romano muttered to Prussia. “He wasn’t used to losing at the time—look at how he wouldn’t let it go with that war America’s always forgetting about.”

“What war?” Prussia muttered back while England yelled at them.  
“The war of 1812… I think?” Romano said thoughtfully.  
“Surely he would have focused on Napoleon…” Prussia replied.  
“OI! STOP IGNORING ME! YOU CAN’T JUST SAY SHIT AND THEN GIGGLE TO YOURSELVES!” England tackled Prussia.

Romano stepped away, and walked over to France.  
“So I suppose that Gilbert was helping you?” France looked oddly excited. “That was kind of him.”  
“I’m not here to talk about Prussia.” Romano sniffed. “I’m fucking furious with you.”  
France’s face dropped. “Why, specifically?”  
“Where do I begin?” Romano growled. “Chronologically, or what hurt the most? What makes you think that you were _entitled_ to me?”

France sighed. “Oh, I see.”  
“I never wanted the fucking Angevins and Aragons to fight over me!” Romano continued. “Joan should have been left alone, but _no_ , the Angevins had to in-fight and destroy her! You couldn’t even let the main branch have me! You and fucking Antonio started a war over me!”  
“Then why do you care so much for him, but not for me?” France asked. “I… remember an incident, during the war. I snuck into Germany to gather intelligence, because I couldn’t do much else. You were there, yelling at him about… whatever, I honestly find it funny now. It was funny then.”

Romano glowered at him. “I’m not funny.”  
“You’re funny when you go after Germany.” France waved his hand. “Anyway, I know that you hate him deeply and whatever, but when you saw me, you hid behind him like a child behind its mother. Do you really hate me _that_ much? Do you really _fear_ me that much?”  
“How can I not, when you didn’t leave me be with the Angevins?” Romano’s mouth was thin. “When you kept sending people to rule me—like the Bourbons. Briefly, Napoleon’s brother, until I helped everyone else knock you back down to size. Why couldn’t you let me be?”

France looked at the grass. “I suppose… it made more sense to me before the fifteenth century. There wasn’t much to have as a colony then, and you were easy. Low risk, high reward. On a personal level, it smarted having Antonio win. To have him lauded when I could have just as easily been your big brother.”  
“Antonio isn’t a brother to me.” Romano made a face.  
“No. But I could have been.” France said. “We never do well with grudges, our kind. We can hold them forever. I like to think that I’ve mellowed out by now. There’s so much love to have in the world—why waste time on bringing others pain?”  
“Well, _bully_ for you, but you still traumatized me to this point! And then _you_ lost control, and ruined Maria Carolina!” Romano clapped his hands over his mouth, as if to stop himself from saying what had already been said.

France looked at him quizzically. “Maria… Carolina?”  
“Don’t pretend you don’t know who she is.” Romano spat. “She was married to your fucking useless Spanish Bourbon. She was Maria Antonia’s sister, and you _ruined_ her by killing her favorite sister!”  
“You’re angry… because I killed Marie Antoinette?” France said slowly.

“Maria Carolina used to _love_ me! She used to _care_ about me, and try to make me better gently! But when her sister died, she stopped all that and started punishing me for being who she made me!” Romano didn’t scream, but he was close enough that England and Prussia momentarily stopped fighting.  
“She was so scared that I would turn on her like you did with Maria Antonia! She didn’t want to encourage revolution in _me_ , so she stopped _loving_ me!” Romano continued.

“Romano… I’m sorry about Maria Carolina.” France tried gently. “I didn’t know that Marie Antoinette’s death affected _you_ like that.”  
“Would it have mattered?” Romano demanded. “No. I don’t want your _fake_ fucking apology! I want you to know what you’ve done!”  
“Why now?” France asked.

“Because I don’t have enough time left to come back and tell the living how I feel about them!”  
“Did it help anything?” France asked.  
Romano glared at him. “Fuck off.”  
France sat down on a gravestone. “I’m genuinely asking. I know what you’re after, but I honestly don’t want to fight anymore.”  
“Let me just pull up a list of every war you’ve been in this century!” Romano spat.

France looked tired. “I didn’t _start_ anything after World War Two. I’m tired, Romano. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to _be_ hurt. You hammer away at the world until you exhaust yourself. But how does that really help you? How does that really help anyone?”  
“So I should just forgive you? Like that? When you’ve done nothing to earn it?” Romano demanded. “Forgive you for _everything_ you’ve done?”

France stood. He moved to put his hand on Romano’s shoulder, but Romano jerked away. France’s hand dropped back to his side. “It doesn’t matter to me for my sake if you forgive me or not. But even I can tell that this is different to your usual anger—this is burning away at you. And I don’t think you want to spend the rest of the time that you have here hating me.”  
“Shows what you know! What makes you think that I think about you that much?” Romano spat.

France shrugged. “Nothing. But this kind of thing… it eats away at you.” He looked over towards Britain and Prussia, still fighting. A bittersweet smile tugged at France’s lips.  
Romano snapped his fingers in front of France’s face. “Hey! This isn’t like your rivalry of invading each other! I _never_ invaded you back, fucker! You were in a position of power that I didn’t have! _Listen to me_!” Romano hissed.  
France looked down at him, surprised. “…I admit, I never thought of you like that. At least, I haven’t done so for a while.”

“Do you give the same non-apology to everyone you _did_ manage to colonize?” Romano screamed. “Do you tell them that they should let it go—that you’re _different_ now, because you can’t actually take them over? I wasn’t treated like an overseas colony! But I still had my blood spilled by fuckers like you fighting over what _my_ grandfather left _me_! And when someone actually cared for _me_ , not Feliciano, not what I had to offer, it was taken away! How do you not understand what you’ve _done_?!”

Prussia and Britain quickly made their way over. Prussia had a black eye, and Britain had a cut lip that was healing rapidly, but they were otherwise unharmed.  
Prussia wrapped an arm around Romano. “Well, thanks for having us, France, but we have to go! Daylight is burning!”  
Surprisingly, Romano did not pull away from the contact.

“I think… an apology… would feel hollow to you at this point.” France said slowly, ignoring Prussia.  
“Keep telling yourself that.” Romano said coldly.  
“It’s not… just his fault…” Britain began. “I heard you mention Maria Carolina, I am also partially to blame—”

“I don’t care.” Romano said. “Thank you for showing me to the grave. I think it may have just been a way to placate me, but I don’t care at this point. See you two in hell, fuckers. At least I’ll have some manner of peace before you two go the way of the dinosaurs and show up to torment me.”  
Prussia followed him out of the graveyard. The morning was misty and cool, and the humans were still mostly asleep.

“So… do you want to talk about any of that?” Prussia asked.  
Romano scowled at him. “What makes you think that I do?”  
“Because I have never seen you have a blow up like that?” Prussia tried.  
“I don’t like France.” Romano said simply.

“…I’m sorry that I brought you straight to him. I thought you disliked him the way that you dislike everyone else?” Prussia said softly.  
“I try not to think about it.” Romano replied. “I really do. But… I don’t think you can understand what it’s like, being caught up in a war that has nothing to do with you, but is about you. Over you. Whatever. I learned to like Spain. I never felt the same about France. Time only adds to that.”

“…do you want to stop talking about sad stuff?” Prussia asked.  
“We’re on a road trip to see the dead.” Romano snarked. “We won’t get to _stop_ until it’s over. Dumb bastard.”  
Prussia grinned. “Hey, you’re calling me a dumb bastard again!”

“Water is wet.” Romano rolled his eyes. “Truly, your powers of perception stagger me.”  
Prussia laughed. “No, you’re back to your old self.”  
“Pushing the pain down does tend to do that.”  
“Hey, my number one goal is to make you happy, okay? And if your anger is a step towards that, it’s better than you crying from the fury in a graveyard.” Prussia took Romano’s hands.

Romano pulled away. “D-don’t say something like that! Bastard! What do I look like, a telenovela star? This isn’t like the time that we went and made a shitty movie together, Prussia!”  
Prussia’s face lit up. “Lovinooooo, you called me Prussia! And no one was around so you don’t have the same excuse as last time!”  
“Hey! Don’t focus on dumb shit, or I’ll leave you here!” Romano yelled, before looking closer at Prussia. “He really did a number on you.”

“Who, England? Nah, I won.” Prussia said smugly. “Military nation, remember?”  
“Your black eye is still there. Come on, we’re getting you ice.”  
“It’ll fade soon…” Prussia said uncertainly.  
Romano raised an eyebrow. “I’m being nice by remaining in this hellscape to get you ice. Don’t throw it away, or you’ll be sad—you’ll fucking _whine_ at me for the rest of the trip. Come on. Let’s go. Besides, you need to realize that I will die first. Not you! So stop throwing a pity party –as you put it—whenever you cut your finger on a thornbush!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not necessarily HAPPY with France here. I think he has a lot of depth that really has not been explored, and would really come to light in a conversation like this. I think he's more of a lover than a fighter, but he has been badly maligned by the fandom. He's not perfect, he's a colonizer (actually, so is Romano, but this isn't about actual colonies right now. Do you think Romano apologized to Ethiopia? No. Is France going to bring that up? Also no) but he doesn't realize the kind of impact he has had on a country like Romano. He did mean his advice from a well-meaning standpoint. 
> 
> Also, Romano escalated things VERY quickly because he was already thinking about Maria Carolina. He probably won't go see her, because she deeply hurt him. She was Maria Antonia (Marie Antoinette)'s older sister, the closest in age/friendship with her. Unlike Maria Antonia, Maria Carolina took an active role in ruling her kingdom on behalf of her halfwit husband, and she did it well. She encouraged arts, and learning, and liberal politics.  
> Then the French Revolution happened.  
> Maria Carolina turned on her values overnight. She shut down anything that could help Naples grow, and those she had formerly patronized were imprisoned. She was deeply afraid of dying the way that her sister did, and she was incredibly hurt by Marie Antoinette's death. (Like, allying herself with the English kind of reaction.) 
> 
> Anyway, you don't care about that. In this current market of stories, 1 new chapter is equivalent to 1.5 comments, like 1 USD is equivalent to 0.76 GBP. Apparently.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at https://notherefortheanonhate.tumblr.com if you want to talk!!


	7. Luxembourg has a small and ooc cameo

Romano ground his teeth as rain poured down on the car.  
“France must really be upset.” Prussia noted.  
“That’s his own fault. I won’t apologize.” Romano said, glancing at Prussia.  
Prussia watched him carefully. “I didn’t say you should. It isn’t like you would say that I should if it were me.”

Romano rolled his eyes at Prussia’s phrasing, but gave a terse nod.  
Prussia eyed the road. “You wanna slow down before we hit Gott himself?”  
“I want to get out of this country.” Romano said. “We shouldn’t have come here.”  
Prussia sighed and stretched. Romano heard Prussia’s spine pop.

“We came here so that you could get closure. And from the sound of it, you needed to yell at France more than you needed to talk to the dead.” Prussia said, before facing forward. “Maybe this whole trip is more about that than greeting the dead.”  
“We can’t guarantee we’ll see all of them.” Romano muttered to himself. “…and I’m sorry, for kind of stealing people you’ve talked to. Making it about me.”

“I don’t mind.” Prussia said. “I did what I needed to do, it’s only right that you do too.”  
Romano didn’t take his eyes off of the road. “I… why are you like this?”  
“What?” Prussia asked, caught off-guard.  
Romano glanced at him, trying to give it the power of a glare. “Like this! All… _nice_. Fighting England as a distraction for me. Taking my side against your friend’s. You’re not being an asshole. Why?”

Prussia raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you _want_ me to be an asshole?”  
“Answer the question, dammit!” Romano replied, though there was no true bite to it.  
Prussia shrugged. “Don’t _you_ ever feel that you wear different masks for different people, and that when you’re… not around them, you don’t have to wear the mask? For example, I play up how happy I am when I’m around Ludwig, because he worries. You hate the masks I wear. It’s just a bit easier to relax around you than anyone else, because you won’t accept anything less. And, you know, I’m really tired most of the time.”

Romano was silent for a minute, before saying, “Maybe it’s the same for you. Maybe. I don’t like it when you announce to God himself that you’re awesome—”  
“Lovino.” Prussia said, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “Has it ever occurred to you that I say that because no one else will? I need to hear someone say it, or else…” He looked out the window.

“So is this who you really are? Tired and ready for death? You’re not even that old.” Romano snorted.  
Prussia yawned. “Sorry, I get kind of nihilistic when I haven’t had my sleep. Also, I don’t like talking about this stuff? Because then I actually have to get into my reasoning and that is not awesome.”  
“Take a nap.” Romano suggested. “Suck a dick. Do whatever you have to do.”

Prussia made a choking sound. “Suck a…? How can you say such things?”  
“I mean, I also do them.” Romano said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you?”  
“I…” Prussia clenched his hands. “I was raised as a monastic order. I am scared, so close to the end…”  
Romano rolled his eyes. “The way I see it, we’re all going to hell. Why spend your time on Earth making more hell for yourself? So you like boys. What’s the big deal?”

Prussia snorted. “It’s not liking boys that’s the problem. It’s… intimacy before marriage.”  
“Do you _want_ intimacy?” Romano asked.  
“…I think I might.” Prussia admitted. “But premarital sex—”  
“We’re not humans. We don’t sin like them, we don’t die like them. I don’t know what we are. But you have to consider—what is a marriage for us? The only people I can think of who got hitched were Austria and Hungary.”  
Prussia sighed. “…I mean, true, but… I don’t know. Once I accidentally touched Hungary’s chest and needed to go pray for quite a while.”

Romano glanced at him, but did not take his eyes off of the road. “We’re not human.” He repeated.  
“I feel more and more human. …don’t you? Aren’t you scared of dying?” Prussia demanded.  
Lightning flashed overhead.  
“I _was_. I’ve been terrified of dying so many times in my life. I thought Attila the Hun was going to rip me apart. I thought Genghis Khan was going to choke out every bit of life from me. France. Spain. England. When I got sacked in 1527. World War One. World War Two. …I don’t fear death right now, though.”

“Do you think there’s… something up there?” Prussia asked.  
Romano sighed. “You were formed for the Crusades. I don’t fault you for believing in God. I… I guess I do too. But not necessarily Christianity as it is recognized now.”  
There was a small pause. Then Prussia brought up the obvious. “You house the Vatican.”  
Romano turned away for a split second to glare at him. “I _know_ that—” A flash of movement, and Romano snapped back to watching the road. A youth was about to be run over—whoever they were, they couldn’t have been older than Seborga looked. Romano swerved.

The car went off the road. Instead of lodging itself peacefully in a bush, the road was right next to a ditch. Therefore the car was now in a ditch. Romano cursed under his breath, then tried to pull the car into reverse. Mud sprayed the side of the ditch. Romano cursed louder.  
“I think we’re going to have to get out and push.” Prussia helpfully offered.  
Romano raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean— _you’re_ going to have to get out and push?”

“What? This is not awesome!” Prussia protested.  
“You won’t have to push _that_ much. Besides, we’ll be across the border of Luxembourg soon, and then we can cross into Germany, and your brother has clothes for you.” Romano reasoned, trying to seem aloof. “Besides, aren’t you the _awesome_ Prussia?”

Prussia sighed and rolled his eyes. “I regret my personal branding now. _Fine_. Only because I suspect you’ve been waiting for this.”  
“ _Me_?” Romano made his eyes go all wide. “ _What_? How could you think that?”  
Prussia raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Well, here I go—a big, strong man…”

He got out of the car, and did not close the door. Romano glared at him.  
Prussia jolted the car, but it still wouldn’t budge. Romano pinched the bridge of his nose, then fumbled around. He grabbed the nearest heavy object—a book someone had left in the backseat. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a Catholic Bible. Romano was not necessarily a Catholic himself, though many of his people were. In light of this, he crossed himself and dropped it on the gas pedal in his place, before slipping out to help Prussia.

“I could handle it myself!” Prussia yelled over the rain.  
“I know! You’re really fucking strong—stronger than I ever was! What were you at your peak?” Romano demanded.  
The car shifted a bit.  
Prussia threw his head back and laughed. “Then? I could move a mountain back then! I once pulled a cart full of munitions when the horse threw a shoe! I pushed a cannon singlehandedly—really, singlehandedly! My other hand had a tankard of beer in it!”

That sounded far too plausible—and far too much like a bet—to Romano. He did not say this, however. Instead, he looked at the car.  
“I’d say this is about a hundredth of the weight of that stupid Heavy Gustav that was so unwieldy. You ever push that?” Romano demanded.  
Prussia grinned, stood back, and cracked his knuckles. “Oh yeah. West and I were the only ones who could get those fuckers on the train. Stand back, South Italy. You’re going to want to cheer for the awesome me.”

Romano did as he was told, deciding not to comment on how Prussia was clearly hyping himself up. Prussia budged the car a bit more, but Romano clearly needed to help. He stepped forward, cracked his own knuckles, and did his best to be sultry and/or vaguely cheering Prussia on in pouring rain. “I know you can do it, Gilbery.”  
Romano would be surprised if Prussia didn’t. The Fiat 500 was capable of going off-road. Interestingly, Prussia turned scarlet all over his face—all the way to his ears. This fascinated Romano. Did all Germans do this? Distractingly, the car also nearly flew up the ditch, all the way to the road. Hm. Romano scrambled after it, nearly falling in the mud at least once. He quickly got in the car before it could back up the other way. He moved the Bible, slammed on the brakes, and put the car in neutral as Prussia got in.

“Thank you.” Romano said.  
“You called me Gilbert!” Prussia said, rudely ignoring him.  
Romano sniffed. “I did no such thing.”  
Before Prussia could retaliate, they heard footsteps. The youth Romano had nearly run over was back.

“I thought you were down in the ditch.” The youth grumbled. Romano narrowed his eyes at him. Strange, in the rain, he almost seemed like…  
There was a scratching noise as Prussia slid down in his seat in an effort to hide.

“You!” The youth hissed. “I thought you two were humans! I was going to _help_ you!”  
“Could’ve helped before.” Romano narrowed his eyes.  
“I was calling Abel and Emma in case I needed help moving your car! What do I look like, America?” The nation flapped his arms in the air. “Congratulations on getting your car out.”  
“Emma…? Oh my god, you’re her baby brother!” Romano said accusingly.

The youth watched him warily. “Who are you?”  
“I’m an old friend of Emma’s. …I think I recognize you from Spain’s house.”  
Recognition flashed through Luxembourg’s-- for that was the identity of this mysterious nation-- one visible eye. “What are you doing with _him_?”

Romano glared at Belgium’s upstart younger brother. And here he’d heard what a _nice_ child he was, the kind of nation who could be a good friend for Seborga! The _audacity_ of this child. “My own fucking business. What are you doing in France’s land?”

“You crossed the border 10 minutes before you crashed into my ditch.” Luxembourg said. “Now, I wasn’t going to do this, but I want to impose an idiot tax.”  
“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Romano demanded.  
“For him.” Luxembourg pointed to Prussia. “Reparations.”  
Prussia sank lower in his seat. Romano was honestly impressed that he could go down that far.

“I’m not paying for you to get reparations.” Romano said. “And he doesn’t have his credit card on him. Go home.”  
Luxembourg glared at the both of them. “Go on, ask him what he did.”  
Romano slowly rolled up his window. “I’m so sad about the Germans going around the Maginot Line. …actually, I kind of am. Emma didn’t deserve that. But that’s not the point of this. Fuck off, kid.”

Luxembourg ground his teeth. “I meant the part where he tried to kidnap me from my brother.”  
Romano considered this. And then he considered that he could smack Germany’s hand with a rolling pin for hanging Seborga that one time in World War Two. And then he did some more considering and decided to take the moral high ground for once.

“Gilbert is sorry but we don’t have time for you. Make a fucking appointment if you want it so bad.” Romano said. He revved his engine to warn the tiny fucker (he wasn’t going to get Belgium mad at him over _this)_ and then hit the gas.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me Gilbert.” Prussia mentioned, looking back at the figure of Luxembourg against the rain.  
“It was a necessary evil.” Romano forced a smile down. "You're under my protection, after all."   
"Really?" Prussia snorted.   
Romano nodded. "Who else would push my car so well for me?" 

Prussia puffed himself up a bit. "Yes. Well. All in a day's work, really."   
Romano nodded. "And who else would start random fights with teenagers by doing stupid shit?"   
"Hey, I stayed out of it!" Prussia huffed, though Romano knew he wasn't truly angry. "I let you slowly phase him out-- when did you get so calculating, anyway?"   
"When the jumped-up fucker started getting me angry." Romano replied breezily. 

"You got angry on my behalf?" Prussia cooed.   
Romano raised an eyebrow. "Don't flatter yourself, idiot. I got angry thinking about how we winded up in this situation."   
"Uh huh." Prussia grinned as they sped towards the German border.


	8. Germany gets a POV! Or: Germany is also a narrator?!?!?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idiocy is a genetic trait okay. So is obliviousness when other people are dating. (see Prussia crashing Switzerland and Austria's canon date and compare it to Germany, a gay man dating another gay man, thinking 'what nice friends' knowing damn well that Romano has no friends).
> 
> I feel bad for that one store clerk that had to be like, "you can't spend our GDP on cake ingredients...."   
> "no cake for you"   
> "waIT NO BUNDESREPUBLIK DEUTSCHLAND BITTE BITTE"

Germany was working on paperwork when he felt the itch. One might think that he had always been working on paperwork since Prussia’s disappearance. This was not the case, as the numerous gugelhuphs, plates upon plates of gingerbread, and multiple stollen. Germany was, unfortunately, a stress baker. Normally Gilbert would be here to help him eat it, but he was not-- therefore Germany stopped baking once he had run out of sugar.

And the grocery store clerk politely told him that they were worried about him, and that he should really focus on something other than baking. And then he, not so politely, told the grocery store clerk that he would not be getting _any_ gugelhuph, so there. And then there were tears. Manly tears of apology, and manly tears of being unable to have gugelhuph made by your own country.

But regardless of Germany’s snack related fiascos, he felt the itch of another country crossing into his territory. He paused, noting which border it was. Luxembourg mostly stayed away from his borders. Most people would have sent notice. He had to check. Unfortunately, he jumped straight from Berlin, a little bit ahead of the itch’s geographical location.

“Brud--” Germany was cut off by Romano, who was still driving at a sufficient speed to get out of Luxembourg, hit him.   
Both Prussia and Romano screamed, and Romano immediately slammed on the breaks.   
“We ran someone over!” Romano grasped at his hair.   
Germany, for his part, had a strong economy. He recovered almost immediately from something so mundane as a car. All he really had was a nosebleed as his body quickly knit itself back together internally.

Prussia got out of the car first. “Human? Please don’t press charges… oh, hi West.”   
“Please get Romano’s car off of me.” Germany sounded very nasal as he pinched his nose.   
“Hey, Romano, back up!” Prussia yelled.   
The car moved back, and Romano got out. “Do we need to bury-- oh. It’s you.”

Germany rose to his feet. “Thank you for returning my brother.”   
Romano raised an eyebrow. “Returning him? I hardly even know him.”   
Prussia cackled.   
“If you want you can stay the night before you’re on your way.” Germany offered.

Romano raised an eyebrow. Then he glanced at Prussia. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”   
“That sounds so much more ominous than what is actually happening. West, Lovino is taking me around to visit everyone who we miss and may not get to see again in the next life! It’s not like we’re busy.”   
Germany looked mildly distraught. “But… you’re not dying. You aren’t.”

Romano tried to raise his eyebrow higher. Germany sounded so young in that instant, he really had to dig deep inside himself to be mean. “Be lucky I don’t send you the bill for him.”   
“I’m sorry if he’s been trouble--” Germany started off a speech he nearly knew by heart.   
Romano waved him off. “Stop talking like I’m trying to get fucking reparations from you. I just want to keep travelling with the idiot-- I am not just giving him back like a fucking terrible Christmas present. I’m not going to Spain alone, that kind of thing doesn’t go well for me. I’m not leaving him here either. I’ll just fucking stay here until I die, and then I’ll haunt you.”

Germany looked pale. The idea of Romano haunting him did not appeal in any way whatsoever. Also the nosebleed.   
“Aww, can’t let go of me, can you?” Prussia cooed, ruffling Romano’s hair.   
Germany closed his eyes. Surely, this was the end of his poor, idiot brother. A minute later, he opened them again at the lack of noise. Prussia was cuddling Romano at this point. Romano was doing nothing but looking irate. It was truly a mystery of epic proportions for Germany. Perhaps Romano had been replaced by an alien. Or maybe a robot.

The mystery was enough to convince Germany to get in the car. About half a mile down the road, they all collectively realized that Germany could and should jump. Germany moved the car to his driveway the minute Romano slowly started to turn in his seat. He could feel the force of Romano’s glare from the other side of his skull.  
Gilbert was the first one out of the car. “Gilbird!” He called.

Romano drummed his fingers on the wheel for a second. “Is this the part where you try to talk to me about not hurting him?”   
“What?” Germany asked. “I don’t care if you and Prussia are friends.”   
Romano looked in the rear-view mirror instead of turning around. “Sometimes, you really are just like Holy Rome. The same kind of oblivious. But fine-- I might ease up on you a bit regarding Veneziano, now that I know that you are merely an idiot instead of a _fuck_.” Romano got out of the car.

Germany followed, deciding that fighting Romano wasn’t worth it. Romano seemed to be trying to be nice-- for him-- which probably meant that a headache was on the way. But not a migraine. Inside, Romano was staring at the results of Germany’s stress baking. Prussia had already grabbed a plate.

“Why is there so much sugar?” Romano muttered to himself. “Is he trying to lure in children to eat?”   
Prussia looked surprised. “Hey, you remembered when I told you those fairytales.”   
Romano looked incredibly annoyed as he was sprayed with gingerbread crumbs. “Why would I forget something like that? It wasn’t repetitive and a carbon copy of other stories. It’s famous.”   
“No, you purposefully remembered all the stories I told you, even if it wasn’t the one about a famous knight--” Prussia held  a hand to his chest and bowed. Romano took the opportunity to steal Prussia’s plate before it spilled.

“Hey!” Prussia said, though he was grinning.   
“It’s the only one I know isn’t poisoned.” Romano replied.   
Germany watched the banter for a minute. It was nice that Prussia had such good friends. However, Germany needed to get to the bottom of something that had been bothering him since his brother left. “Who is Holy Roman Empire, and why does everyone get so weird when I ask about him?”

Prussia visibly tensed, and Romano nearly spat out the bite he’d taken. Then they sort of looked at each other.   
“Do you want me to leave the room?” Romano said, uncharacteristically quiet. Definitely a robot.   
“No. Stay. Your brusque attitude will be welcome.” Prussia grinned.   
Romano scoffed, and sat down at the dining room table with his plate of sugar. “Not really. Dumbass didn’t listen when I gave him the run down the first time.”

Germany shot him a look, and Romano returned it.   
Prussia cleared his throat. “First of all… Holy Rome was older than me. Second, he was originally born in what is now France-- he was his brother first. That fell apart very quickly, with the death of Charlemagne. Holy Rome became one of ours, and he…”

“He invaded Lombardy and took Feliciano home?” Romano added. “Destroyed Saxony’s religion to impose Christianity?”   
Prussia’s mouth was a thin line. “Yes. He started out so strong, but over the years… he was just a puppet of Austria and Spain. Mostly Austria. He was more his than anyone else’s.”   
“What does this have to do with me? And Feli-- Veneziano?” Germany asked.   
Romano scoffed. “You know your geography. And I told you when you called asking where _he_ was.”

Prussia nodded slowly. “Ludwig… you grew so quickly. So much more quickly than any other nation I’ve seen. And that is in part due to the Industrial Revolution, but also because when Austria and I came together and made you… it was because the groundwork had already been laid by Holy Rome. You almost died so many times because of how _stupid_ I was--”   
He was cut off by Romano shoving a bite of gugelhuph in his mouth.

“Anyway, what we’re trying to spell out for you is that you have the main area of Holy Rome. You look exactly like him, to the point where Feli was willing to do _stupid shit_ so he wouldn’t see ‘you’ march off to war alone again. You and Holy Rome may be different nations, but there’s a… sense of continuity between the two of you. But he was too young to be your father, so no one quite knows what to think.” Romano leaned back in his chair.

“…what about Feliciano?” Germany asked.   
Prussia grimaced. “For whatever reason, Heinrich and Veneziano loved each other as children. I always thought it was because the Pope called Heinrich and Charlemagne in to ‘save’ Italy from the barbarians.”   
“I didn’t realize at the time how stupid I was to allow that.” Romano muttered.   
Prussia pushed on. “Regardless, Heinrich loved Veneziano from the moment he first saw him. …admittedly, he thought Veneziano was a girl, or he probably would have had an internal crisis. But Veneziano himself wouldn’t march with Heinrich. He didn’t want to remake Rome. And then, Heinrich died. And the only ones who were there were France and Austria, and France killed him.”

Romano scowled at the floor. “Feli has never recovered. We purposefully did not want to meet you when Prussia and Austria pulled you together in 1815. Feli wouldn’t have been able to take it if you weren’t Heinrich. Personally, I think the way things have turned out is worse. Why do you think he wouldn’t leave your side after you ‘captured’ him in World War One? Why do you think that he didn’t hold to Locarno when Britain and France could have _easily_ kicked our asses? Because it’s _you_ , and you may not be _him_ , but fuck if that doesn’t matter to Feli. I don’t know if he can see the distinction. I don’t know if _I_ can. But to him, it’s always been about _you_.”

“It’s always been about my brother.” Germany snapped.   
“I used to worry that you were somehow Heinrich come again.” Prussia muttered. “I still do. Even seeing his tomb doesn’t help. Don’t blame Veneziano for conflating the two of you-- even though I think he’s learned that particular lesson.”   
Romano stood, walked over, and rubbed Prussia’s back. “He has a point. Weren’t you listening to what I said? Veneziano loves _you_. Dumbass, does it really matter why?”

“Don’t be mean to Ludwig.” Prussia poked him in the side. “He’s a baby.”   
Germany felt an even stronger headache coming on. Perhaps it would be a migraine after all. “I’m not a _baby_. I’m the more responsible one left!”   
Romano settled against Prussia. “You are roughly 1,400 years younger than Veneziano and I. You’re 800 years younger than your brother. You’re a baby. And be lucky that you are, because I’d kick your fucking ass if you were actually Holy Rome! After all the shit I’ve been put through because of both of you…!”

Germany didn’t really know how to react to that. Instead he grabbed a plate of stollen and hastily ate so that he would not _have_ to react. Romano raised an eyebrow, then looked at Prussia. “How far is it to Dresden?”   
“2 hours by car.” Prussia said.   
“Good. I’m getting some fucking sleep, and having a shower. I need to wash France off of me. Hey Mr. Baby, did my brother leave any clothes here last time he came to try your sausage?”

Germany choked on his stollen.   
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Romano deadpanned, before looking at Prussia. “So, can you find them for me, and then we can go wherever the fuck you sleep?”   
“The basement.” Prussia provided helpfully.   
Romano blinked in surprise. “Jesus fuck, if Feliciano tried that I’d make sure we didn’t eat pasta for months.

Germany decided not to ask why Romano wanted to sleep in Prussia’s room. Romano probably just didn’t want to take the couch.   
He swallowed his stollen. “I have a guest room if you want it.”   
No one really used it, except when Prussia’s idiot friends came home drunk with him. Mostly it was a bed for the dogs so that they wouldn’t smother him and Feliciano in their sleep. He should acquire more dogs…

Romano gave Germany a look like he was the most willfully stupid person, and therefore not even worth speaking to. Prussia watched Romano. However, instead of saying anything else, Romano turned and headed upstairs. They could hear doors opening and closing until Romano presumably found the bathroom.

“…Gilbert, why does he want to sleep in your room if he doesn’t like it?” Germany finally asked, now that Romano was safely out of earshot.   
Prussia shook his head. “Italians sure are a mystery, huh Lud? Why don’t you go read your manual about it?”   
Germany did not rise to the bait. “I don’t have a manual about Italians that have something to do with one’s brother.”   
Prussia shrugged. “All I know is that he likes to cuddle.”

Germany nearly choked on his stollen. “When… you and Romano… cuddled? Like a child with its teddy bear?”   
“Like you and North Italy.” Prussia smirked, in the time-honored tradition of siblings messing with each other.   
Germany swallowed. Choking in his own home was humiliating. “You and…? _What_?”

“Is it so strange to think that he might want me?” Prussia was watching Germany intently now. Germany took another bite of stollen while he tried to think. It _sounded_ like Prussia was asking Germany for his blessing. This was smart. Germany should have had Veneziano ask Romano when they started dating.

After a minute though, Prussia looked away. “Yeah, I guess I read too much into it.”   
“I’ll talk to him if you want. I don’t mind, but I’d like _him_ to ask.” Germany said. If he had to go through this, so did Romano.   
“…what?” Prussia said. “Oh my _Gott,_ this is so _embarrassing_ —you shouldn’t know anything about boys anyway! You’re a baby!”

Germany bristled. “Hey! I only had to consult the manual _once_... okay I should clarify that I have multiple manuals…”   
Prussia was up in a minute, heading towards the library. He soon returned with a magazine for teenagers with ‘how to tell that he likes you!’ emblazoned across the cover.

“West, this isn’t a _proper_ manual.”   
“It was all I could find!” Germany hissed, attempting to grab it back.   
Prussia dodged fluidly. “Then since both of us are idiots, it will have to do. What page is it?”   
Germany sighed, and quickly looked back to the stairs. He didn’t want Romano judging him… actually, Romano would judge him no matter what. His brother should have a nicer boyfriend. “33.”

Prussia hissed in frustration. “West, this is a _quiz_!”   
“Yes? Go on!”   
Prussia hurriedly read through the magazine before Romano could appear out of nowhere. “This is inconclusive! West, why do you have this? It’s unhelpful!”

“Don’t be mean to the manual!” Germany hissed back.   
“It’s not a manual!” Prussia handed it back to Germany. “It is _lies_!”   
The stairs creaked. Romano came downstairs carrying a pile of Veneziano’s clothes that _Germany_ had painstakingly washed and folded. It didn’t matter—Veneziano would probably pull something out of nowhere—last time he had apparently left a three piece suit under the bed—and wear it.

“Dresden tomorrow?” Romano said to Prussia. He tossed his head, showering the brothers with water.   
Prussia nodded. For a man covered in water, his mouth seemed very dry.   
Romano sighed. “Show me your basement.”   
Germany watched in silence as Romano followed Prussia downstairs. Maybe Prussia didn’t need the manual after all. …this should be investigated further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a great Hark a Vagrant comic (it's the last one before she went on her latest break) where they are arguing over who the narrator is. 
> 
> I think about it a lot.   
> That's where the second part of the title comes from. 
> 
> Let's all agree not to think about how long this took (it's because the stupid part of me wanted to get to Dresden instead of seeing more friends)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old draft I wrote up long, long ago. If you want me to continue it, give me a sign, or I will just leave it be.


End file.
